Featherlight
by FlyWolfSilver
Summary: An angel has fallen. An angel with wings of purest white, skin of alabaster paleness and hair the richest shade of chocolate brown. It could almost be too good to be true. But, oh it is. For underneath mercury eyes resides the most shallow, selfish, sarcastic bastard the world has ever seen. Gaara almost wishes he would get his arse off of earthen turf and hoik it back to Heaven.
1. Hold It Together

**Notes: **This idea was bouncing around, literally eating me up inside. I had to write it. I won't be abandoning my other in-progress story, **_Tatties and_ Ink**, so just consider this as a... side-along project. I'm sure simultaneous stories won't kill me! ...Right? It's rated for language at the moment (these boys swear an _awful_ lot), and the rating will go up for... later scenes :eyebrow wiggle:

I really hope you enjoy this. I am truly excited about this idea, and I have done the right thing this time and planned before I posted. There will be 11 chapters, but because they will be jam-packed with stuff, they will be both enormous, and probably a long time in coming. I'm setting myself a minimum of 13 Word document pages, which is about 10,000 words each time. MINIMUM.

So, without further ado: please delve into the story. Flamers, flame if you... feel the need. Plagiarisers: don't steal this. I worked long and hard on it, and you would gain nothing from it.  
Constructive criticism always welcome!

**Disclaimer: **I am in no way shape or form the owner, maker or inventor of Naruto. Why? Because then they'd all be gay, and Neji and Gaara would dominate the episodes. :shrugs:

* * *

**Chapter 1  
**Hold It Together

Pale petals imbued the air with the faint fragrance of honey and pear. A few pearlescent beads of dew adorned the slender veins of the moon-white, deep-bellied lillies which drifted like peaceable spirits over the slight eddies of the water. The courtyard was a splendorous affair; a charming horseshoe of white gold marble in the shape of a crescent moon. Slender, waiflike forms danced in supple motions on bare and dainty feet around the glistening azure pool in its heart; lilting laughter tinkling in the air like precious, transient jewels from the willowy throats. Occasionally, a small flurry of softness would drift from their elegant forms – long and sensuously silken; tapered on the ends into cottony rapiers. Lesser beings would dart forth, cherub faces curved in complete adoration, to catch these loose heavenly treasures in tiny, child-like hands and respectfully remove them from the unblemished air.

Other beings drifted in an ethereal peacefulness from the exquisite building framing the outer edge of the courtyard - the masterfully wrought golden pillars leading into a shaded plaza whose mottled flooring was flecked with thin webs of an indeterminable glimmering copper. Huge gleaming archways admitted entrance into the airy building, through which plush chaise-longues in brilliant, unearthly shades of crimson and mauve were visible in the many niches of the vast space. Noble figures were draped over these in glorious natural poses, skin aglow in all manner of porcelain, cream, cappuccino and cocoa-black. Voices sweeter than the most beautiful of birdsong chimed and resonated in a fluid, unwavering throb, punctuated occasionally by the delightful trilling of alluring laughter.

Opposite the Greek palace, where the narrowing points of the crescent didn't fully meet, the view was unobstructed. The aqua waters of the tear-shaped pool met the edge of the courtyard and plunged over the dizzying precipice, the indistinguishable diamond drops tumbling in serene acceptance through the yielding air, catching the sunlight and throwing an awe-inspiring mile long rainbow through the sky. The distance they fell was undecided – an immeasurable way down the water joined the indeterminable cerulean blanket that stretched to caress the horizon on every side. Falling at such speed, the water froze as it traversed the enormous distance to join its ancestor element, merging with the gargantuan opalescent gem that was known as _Caelum._ There were countless other names for it, stretching back into a past so distant that few could remember the blurred images that randomly made it back across its yawning gap of time. The basic knowledge about it was never lost though: it was the Divider. The One-Way pass. The Eyme floated above it, a nearly invisible dust speck from that incredible a distance. The Eyme itself was a monumental structure, worlds across, and as flat as the infant race once thought their own earth was. The great palace, the most tranquil and unchanging a place, was an abode of rest and leisure; always open to any spirit or embodied soul. But its glistening and bright-eyed beauty still carried an undercurrent of woeful lamentations. For it was here, in the Sun Temple, that resided the single and only doorway from the ancient and beautiful land. And it was to here that the to-be Fallen were taken.

XXX

His chest rose and fell in a deliberate calm and his plush and moist lips deigned not to quiver. The faces around him were solemn and regretful; passionate sadness arching their shaped brows in despondency over grief-filled eyes. Two slim, familiar figures shivered in the arms of a heart-breakingly recognisable face – a face that was downcast so that light eyes were hidden under the fall of hair. The trio crouched aside from the small ensemble, and a single figure broke from the silent throng to approach the solitary man, who diverted his gaze away from them. The approaching one raised a hand and slid it through wondrously sleek, choppy hair, before he walked closer to the other.

"You chose a bad day to Fall," he said sombrely, biting sarcasm for once absent from the smooth tones. A breeze tinged with apples drifted through them, lifting a few waist-length tendrils of rich soil coloured hair and playing with the shorter raven locks.

"And why is that, brother?" The husky maple voice replied, lightly injecting humour into the conversation even as the slanted eyes over the lips forming the amused words remained austere and sober.

The other man avoided the resigned eyes in order to look out over the drop, unable to quite conceal the slight wince across his features. "The wind is blowing, brother," he replied tellingly, raising an arm with the palm pointing upwards. A stronger gust swirled down the full-length sleeve, tugging at the fabric and whirling through the white fingers until it was pulled as though in a vacuum over the edge along with the water.

"Indeed," was the quietly rueful reply, "That is certainly most unfortunate."

Onyx eyes quickly darted over and scrutinised the impassive face as it was turned away from him, running along the planes of the sculpted cheeks. "You would appear to be in high spirits, brother."

The full extent of the rich, creamy skin was displayed as the man turned back to him. "Appear being the key word in that sentence, brother."

"Sasuke," came the beckoning call in a voice like a honey-glazed razor. The short-haired man turned with a rustle to look into similar ebony eyes. A look of understanding flashed between them, and then it was with an expressionless mask on that he turned to pass on his final farewells.

"I only hope we meet again, brother."

"As do I."

"We may very well meet in Heaven."

The remark was rewarded by the momentary warming of glowing opal irises, which flashed brilliantly in the sunlight, before the unspoken laughter was gone from the face. "I should like that," was the quiet response. The other man inclined his head gently, and spun to walk with finality back to the small group, standing next the long-haired man who had hailed him. Another stepped forward in his place from his position at the fore of the crowd. Sun-kissed skin was crowned by a head of blazing golden hair, stronger than the vivid shafts of sunlight rippling over his tawny muscles and powerful physique. He approached the solitary man with pride and power resonating from each footstep, and as he neared the long-haired being, he stretched out a muscled arm and laid it across the other's shoulder.

"It is a sad day," he began, his voice as rich as life-giving earth and his eyes, which rivalled the aqua ocean above them, alive with strife and sorrow; "When one of our own should fall. And I never thought I would be saying these things to you." The proud man sucked in a wide lungful of air as if to inflate himself again from where his shoulders had caved a fraction. "Therefore, instead of having the cherubs do it… _I _shall bind you."

A heavy sigh of wind sent flurries of dark chocolate hair flying, and in the sunlight they burst into a giddy display of shades – golden and amber, bright auburn and a gleam of copper set off by the dark, thick melted cocoa and rich wet soil. The locks settled from their dance with a sad limpness as the breeze moved on, barely moving as the head they belonged to bent in acknowledgement. In response to the allowance, the dominating figure of the golden-haired man walked around his unmoving companion. Sliding through his fingers was the supple length of intricately woven metal – as fine and delicate as a maiden's interlacing fingers, and yet stronger than any physically wrought armour of steel. Working with an inhuman speed and precision, the thin gold band wove once – twice – thrice times around the huge lustrous limbs, and then slipped around the hard abdomen – robed only in a light cream tunic, to fuse together with a bright light as it adjoined the rest.

His work done, the powerful man took a step back, a look of unimaginable sadness in his deep eyes. Behind him, the rest of the onlookers observed with similar grief written across their faces. It was the most degrading and saddening thing to see – especially, as rarely as ever was the case, the victim was undeserving.

A small step forwards, and the blonde man places both hands palm down on the bound man's shoulders. Sapphire eyes drilled into glazed pearl ones as he summoned up the strength to speak. "Young man," his rich tenor lamented, "Because you are still so young in the eyes of our vast lives, it brings me great sorry to have bound and restrained you like this." It was indeed an unusual speech to be spoken at a Falling, an uncharacteristic regret and sorrow which rebounded with clashing inevitability around the white pillars which honed the point of the open doorway in front of which the tied man was stood. Most speeches spoke of the sin or horror that had been committed to warrant such an action.

"But today-" …

But today was certainly a momentous occasion; one of the most unusual in the entire uncountable history of The Eyme. Today, the Falling speech was an improvisation.

"Today, you will Fall. Know that if the opportunity arises, if it ever does, the Caelum, the Divide, it will be opened and you shall be admitted without hesitation, without a Court held in consideration of your repentance. I pray-" Here the slightest tremor, like the quivering of a leaf on a still day, was briefly evident; "I pray that that day shall be swift in coming."

The unblinking blue eyes shuttered for a moment.

The long-haired man parted his lips. "Thank you… Lord Namikaze."

The man carried on around the pause. "A man of such noble birth, of such a noble disposition – Neji Hyuuga, I pray that your Fall be fleeting, and your stay even less so. I pray that you be with us again soon." He stood, and the glorious, sunbeam-yellow wings on his back shifted in distress at the sight of the brilliant diamond ones flaring from the other man's back, the sunlight rendering them almost translucent but for the lavender opaqueness clouding them, tightly restrained by the unbreakable golden chain. It seemed a sin for one to be bound in such a way, as the murmurings of disquiet coming from the group behind indicated. A high, brief keen rended the air, and every head turned to the inconsolable youngest Hyuuga as she clutched her older sister's trembling hands. His own brow furrowing in anguish, the bound Hyuuga took a half-step towards his cousins but went no further. He was a Fallen, and it was no longer in his right to do such a thing. The elder Hyuuga tightened his arms around them, and for a single half-second the two men's similar pale eyes met. The youngest turned away first. Guided by Lord Namikaze's arm, he took one step toward the sheer drop, and then another. When he was but a finger's breadth away, he turned to the blue-eyed lord, and hovered his hand over the other's forearm as if he were about to grasp it. "I pray too," he said lowly, in his satiny tone, the undercurrents of strain only barely roughening the husky shimmer of it, "For your son's health. When he awakes…" He paused, as if in pained contemplation, "Please make sure he doesn't blame himself."

Eyes pools of unreadable emotion, Lord Namikaze brought his other hand up and grasped he younger man's forearm in the mark of friendship. "I will allow you…" He tailed off softly in response, releasing the man's arm and taking a step back, wings unfurling slightly for balance.

The Hyuuga cast a glance over the edge, watching the rainbow glitter like an impossible aerial painting. He considered turning and saying one last goodbye as a whole, and then decided that a clean break would be easier on everyone. It would be too hard to turn back now. Instead, he raised his arms as if to offer an embrace and, allowing his toes to bend him forwards, dove through the air as gracefully as if he were merely taking flight.

He fell with blinding speed, his wings immediately trying to snap open to save his fall; yet they met with uncompromising resistance and remained tightly locked closed. The wind ripped away the nearly silent '_good luck Neji'_ from behind him as he fell with no control, occasionally entering the unbroken water stream and dousing his clothes and hair; moisture that was immediately pulled away from him by the powerful wind. He plummeted for about an hour, realising his friend's voiced concern as the wind, rather than following the direction of the water, instead buffeted his body and the cupped expanse of his wings, unbalancing him from his headlong fall. It was with sickening conviction that he realised the wind had torn him a little away from the waterfall and was holding him captive in a sidelong airstream away from it. Watching the gaping deep-blue hole, a stark anomaly against the bright turquoise gem, growing wider, Neji realised that he wasn't going to clear it unscathed. The hole grew from a pinprick to the size of a head, and finally the jagged edge of the one splinter in the unbreakable jewel came into view, the edge in line with Neji's line of vision. He struggled against the air harder, knowing all too well the awe-inspiring power of the element – but it was in vain. His eyes widened along with the Caelum's doorway, as he rushed towards it and it rushed just as eagerly up to him. Unable to watch it, Neji screwed his pale eyes up behind their lids of unblemished marble, just as his head burst the monotony of the continuous roaring that had been the only sound around him with a wet, sickening crunching. Agony exploded in his skull; pain the likes of which he'd never experienced before, and it was through half-parted, dimly fading eyes that he watched himself falling through the mile-thick gem's interior and out the other side, vaguely aware that the hole was healing itself after him. An overcast sky blurred into his vision, and then the clouds consumed him and everything faded into darkening grey.

* * *

A dull grey drizzle permeated the heavy air of the streets of Konohagakure; the sullen aftermath of a full blown storm. Hunched figures in shapeless waterproof skins slogged quickly through the wide puddles in the streets, clutching their sopping items in possessive claws. One figure peeled away from a straggling group of strangers, made a right turn, and then a left. It slowed in a driveway surrounded by red brick walls dyed the colour of dark clay under the water. A rusted metallic Peugeot skulked against the far wall; adjacent, and clearly more loved, was a misshapen shape under a crisp motorbike cover which fended off the rain. Digging deep into a dripping pocket, the figure dug out a key hanging off an unadorned ring and let itself in. In the stagnant warmth, the anorak was shed, secreting water into a bucket under the coat peg. The revealed shape moved through the darkness of the hall and into the first door on the right, flicking the switch. A towel was snagged off a sideboard and thrown over a head; mussed to soak the water. The man, for it was a man, finished towelling himself and dropped into a bar stool – a simplistically designed one with two oblong shaped steel bars topped by a hand-sanded slab of oak – and rested his head in his hands. The fabric slid over his head with a rustle to fold itself on the floor, and the glass chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling grasped the opportunity to illuminate the man's cherry-red hair. Glimmering jade eyes looked up to appraise the room with solemn blankness, a slender-fingered hand moving to rub his left temple. Under the short nails blazed a brilliant crimson tattoo.

The room was a pretty one by all standards. Tall and open plan, the kitchen unit was situated by the windows overlooking the damp drive. Light, softwood cabinets lined the wall in a peachy fawn shade, topped by a sleek terracotta granite surface. The identically styled island unit that the man sat upon drifted atop a wall-to-wall ocean of caramel floorboards. The kitchen, however, dominated a small portion compared to the rest of the room. The sitting area – centred around a rectangular rug in vivid and unearthly hues of lush green and sapphire blue, yellow brighter than sunshine and a brilliant fire red – was a hodgepodge of colour and shape. Mismatching sofas and armchairs were scattered on and around it in various states of use – one, an armchair of a luminescent sky blue, was surrounded by teetering stacks of paperbacks and half-filled notepads. A small TV set could be spotted at the head, towards which all the chairs pointed in a wobbly horseshoe, alongside a games console and DVD player. Pushed against the far window was a vinyl record player sitting on top of a coffee table, under which were a stack of records. Bookshelves lined the walls on either side; some filled with colourfully bound volumes and others a seemingly random selection of oddly shaped stones and shells. A corkboard hung above the window, featuring a multitude of different feathers held there by rainbow pins. Semi-translucent emerald curtains floated around the window, tenderly brushing the floor. They were a dainty addition to an eclectic array of colour.

BLEEP!

The redhead pulled his phone out of his back pocket with a small frown.

_From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)  
Message: GAARA, MY YOUTHFUL FRIEND! Tomorrow is Fete Day! I hope you have not forgotten, and I shall pick you up the crack of dawn so that we can start the day together in high spirits! :D_

Gaara sighed and allowed himself a minute of meditative breathing before he tapped 'reply'.

_From: Gaara  
Message: Lee. Crack of dawn WILL NOT be necessary. The fete starts at 4:30pm. Come to mine for 3. _

The reply came immediately.

_From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)  
Message: If you are insisting Gaara! I have spent my days doing as Gai Sensei has suggested! I no longer need crutches, even though it appears to be impossible for me to run as of yet (I have been doing handstand push-ups to make up for it though!), but I have managed to achieve in the two weeks I have been inactive, three bobble hats, four scarves, a patchwork blanket and matching jumpers for me and you to wear tomorrow! I shall bring them!_

Gaara stared with nothing short of horror in his eyes.

_From:__ Gaara__  
Message:__Please don't._

BLEEP!

_From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)  
Message: Ah, short of words even in text, aren't we my green-eyed friend! No matter, even if you choose not to wear it tomorrow, you can most definitely save it for a rainy day! :D :D_

_From: Gaara  
Message: I'm allergic to wool._

BLEEP!

_From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)  
Message: You are such a joker my friend! Ahahaha! But just in case this happened, I made sure to buy completely synthetic fibre wool! Gaara – I am sorry, but I must do at least a hundred one-handed handstand push-ups by bedtime! I shall see you bright and early tomorrow! X_

The redhead stared, a little bemused, at the phone for another second, before he slipped it back into his pocket without bothering to reply that 3 o'clock in the afternoon did not constitute 'bright and early'. Heaving himself off of the oddly structured stool, he grabbed a couple of hand-painted chipped mugs off the drainer and deposited them in an overhead cupboard before he waded through the casual crowd of chairs. A metal spiral staircase in the far left corner led to a thin balcony hanging into the air above the eccentric living space. Gaara mounted the stairs and let himself into his room, weary eyes beginning to slide shut. He fumbled for the hanging switch, and as he yanked on it, glowing golden, blue and orange fairy lights lit up the walls of his room. He stumbled tiredly in, flicking switches as his trailing fingers brushed over them, setting a red lava lamp aglow, and another mosaic lamp that threw multi-coloured pink and green fractured light across his thick beige carpet. His bed glistened invitingly in the glowing halo of light, a four poster double with four thick mahogany beams rising to the ceiling. The posts Gaara carved himself: snarling wolves and dragons and the slight hint of maidenly curves twirling under the arm of hard, defined abdominals. Where he'd gotten bored of specific shapes the animals disintegrated into masterfully convoluted swirls and mazes, or else hand-carved knots in the otherwise knot-less wood. Unlike a normal four-poster, instead of a flat board closing off the top, the beams curved into a point over the centre of the mattress. Here, the redhead had hammered short, stout nails into the wood, holding layers and layers of shimmering fabric in place as it fell in unconscious natural grace around the sheer black quilt covers. Lee said it was princess-y. Gaara didn't care.

Stripping quickly of the black and green overalls of his workplace, the originally named 'Carl's Carpentry', Gaara shoved it all uncaringly into the partially open drawer of the ebony-coloured wooden wardrobe against the wall – unwilling to clutter up the floor. He swiped a wet-wipe over his face, washing away the kohl blackness around his eyelids, and with a surge of relief began to burrow through the layers of translucent silk to the fresh crispness of his bed covers. Sleep took him almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, memory-foam moulding lovingly around his flaring jawbone, bringing with it the soft, far-away dulcimer notes of insubstantial colour and reflection as dreams unfolded, revolutionary, in the young man's mind.

XXX

The Fete was cancelled.

Or so proclaimed the small red sign – laminated – one of many hanging at intervals along the gates to the park. Technically, as Gaara had pointed out to his friend – the same friend who was hanging off the opened gate looking desolately into the empty greenspace – it was only an arts and crafts gathering that happened annually in one of the few areas of greenery in Konoha. Why Lee was so gutted, the redhead had no idea, seeing as there was little that he could actually do there. Rolling his eyes quickly before his friend could turn around and see, he grabbed one green-clad arm and gave it a tug. Wide eyes wobbly with unshed tears turned to look mournfully at him.

"Lee," Gaara sighed, "Don't worry. It will be postponed; obviously the weather is too bad right now for the Fete to go ahead."

The pair startled as a languid crash of thunder resonated through the sky. Above the pointed tips of the ultra-modern buildings, swollen black clouds were beginning to hang low over the city, unabashedly showing their naked darkened bellies. A small, short sunbeam burst from somewhere, and the brief illumination lit up the surrounding skyscrapers. They glowed with a luminescent light, their sleekly designed shells refracting the light from enormous curved polished metal and glass exteriors. They were in the heart of Konohagakure, known dispassionately by those living in the outer reaches of the city as 'The Hub'. The Hub was, bluntly speaking, where the rich people lived. It was the heart of business, commerce, fashion and livelihood. In the daytime the streets were crisp and well-kept, the store fronts advertising their products through floor to ceiling glass walls; price tags unsympathetically on display. Several 0's was not just a common sight here, it was the norm. White light twinkled ostentatiously in the huge hotel plazas, rebounding off alarming amounts of white marble and inset jade and topaz, and the aromas exuding from classy restaurants furnished in a glossy black and white Zen fashion made one feel like they should be paying for simply inhaling. The nightlife was as similarly upper class, if not more so. When the sun touched the horizon, The Hub hummed with the deep bass of the exclusive nightclubs situated around the inner city and the light was dimmed, but more in a way that hinted at a sexual romanticism, of high class pleasure and exquisite experience.

In short, Gaara and Lee did not belong there.

"Lee," the short redhead sighed again, giving an impatient yank on the sleeve, "Let's get out of here before the rain sets in."

"I concede, my friend," the other sighed eventually, still looking glum, "But I had been hoping to replace the large amount of that thin wood I stepped on last month, and this is the only place that I believe sells it."

Gaara, remembering, let out a resigned breath. He had been pretty angry after that, and obviously Lee had not forgotten his wrath. He could see red sometimes, and Lee would only tell him afterwards what a dragon he could become. "So that's why you were so adamant on coming," he muttered. He led the way away from the park, leaving the glistening leaves behind them. "I told you Lee, you don't need to worry. The project wasn't even going well anyway." He lifted the corners of his lip in a strained half-smile at his friend. "Really, please don't worry about it."

He relaxed his facial muscles in relief, working his jaw as his face fell back into its familiar frown. Lee was still watching him; he could feel his eyes burning into the top of his head. When the sensation continued for another couple of minutes, he looked up with a scowl at his tall friend.

Noticing he'd been caught, the black-haired man had the presence of mind to look sheepish. When the glower on his companion's face didn't abate, he let out a small hurr noise in his throat before hastening to explain. "I just… feel like you need someone in your life, Gaara. You always look lonely at the moment." He gave him an apologetic look, and then scooted off the pavement to hobble on the edge of the road away from his temperamental friend.

Instead of getting irritable, Gaara took a moment of self-reflection. This wasn't the first time Lee had brought that up, not to mention his siblings. He huffed angrily, feeling the air thickening around his skin as the storm moved over the centre of the city. He didn't have time for a relationship. Lee had a long-time girlfriend in Tenten Oshimu, but he wasn't sure he was ready for the added pressure of a partner. He was overdue on his rent bill, and by the looks of things, Carl's Carpentry was starting to strain for work. It wouldn't be long before the place went bankrupt, and Gaara would be forced to hunt down another job. It wasn't a bright prospect, considering the recession that was rocking the edges of Konohagakure. Work was disappearing faster than the trees in the city, and it was only The Hub that remained unaffected. As would always be the way, the redhead though bitterly.

"You are thinking about the monetary crisis, aren't you my friend?"

The phrasing elicited a half-smile which warmed the heart-shaped face for a moment. "Yes, Lee."

He got a sympathetic mumble in reply. The brightly bedecked young man, in his self-knitted green jumper and bright orange Doc Martins, had managed a lucky break in the world of sport, winning three martial art competitions in quick succession and receiving a sport invitation for private training on a high level sports team just months before the bankruptcy and disbandment of the gym he had belonged to for over a decade. Gaara was happy for his friend, who had already suffered enough hardship in life; he just wished it could be that easy for everybody.

They rounded the corner of the park, the ever-exuberant Rock Lee walking in a light skipping movement despite an injury he sustained to his calf some weeks ago, that made the mop atop his head jump around. The redhead next to him absentmindedly blipped his fingers over the cool grey bars that enclosed the greenery. A leaf tumbled in front of them, finally giving up its hold on the mother branch, and as it tumbled in front of the duo, the redhead noticed the bus idling by the curb.

"Hey – Lee," Gaara said slowly, staring suspiciously at the vehicle as the engine made a rumble that indicated its preparation to move off, "Is that the one-three-four?"

The taller one focused on the numbers on the back of the bus – to the other man they were a little fuzzy seeing as he'd left his glasses at home.

"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Lee, that's our bus."

The already circular eyes widened further, and with the speed and precision of the athlete he was, he grabbed the smaller man's wrist and pelted at full speed to the doors which were shuddering closed. He made it by skin of his teeth, having let go of the redhead to jump aboard and stop the bus, grinned at the driver's raised eyebrow, and turned to point out a seat to his companion just as the bus moved off.

The aisle behind him was empty. Horrified, he jumped into a seat and looked out at the flash of red hair, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other holding a slightly damp wallet. "Stop!" Lee yelled, "There's someone else, my friend didn't get on!"

The driver shot him an apologetic look in the mirror, "Sorry kid, we're already running late."

The nerve! "Then let me off!" He nearly shouted, standing precariously in his seat.

"Running late," the driver repeated, and Rock Lee tumbled into his seat as the bus turned the corner and a wall of reflective grey metal obscured the lost little figure on the pathway.

Gaara stared after the bus, a little stupefied, as it vanished around the corner. Seconds later, his right trouser pocket started to vibrate. Numbly, he fished around for it and pulled it out, scattering a few smatters of sawdust that were in there too for some reason. The caller ID was next to a picture of a man with an extraordinarily shiny black bowl-cut. Gaara accepted the call.

"Hey Lee."

He hurriedly held the phone away from his ear as a cacophony of noise erupted from the other line. Gingerly, he held the mouth piece to his lips. "Lee." The incredible unbroken stream of words continued. "Lee. LEE!"

Thankfully, silence immediately reigned. There was a ringing in one of Gaara's ears.

"Gaara!"

"Lee, listen, don't worry about me, okay? Go home, do _not _try and run to me from the next stop-" the redhead knew what his friend was like, "Don't beat yourself up, and I will text you when I get home. Okay?"

"But Gaara..?"

"But what?" The redhead prompted, pinching the bridge of his nose inbetween his thumb and forefinger.

"It's raining!"

"It's not-" Oh. Clouded emerald eyes stared at the large splash of water on the thumb that held the phone. His mind cast around quickly – couldn't hide in a shop, he'd get kicked out… The park. The park had a covered wooden gazebo structure in its heart. He began to hurriedly jog back to the entrance, slipping the wallet that had fallen out of his pocket when he was running back into his trousers.

"There's a covered area in the park," he explained, his breath already catching as he sprinted through the park gates – he was no athlete like Lee, "Next bus is in two hours. I'll be fine."

"Bur Gaara!"

"Look, I gotta go Lee," the young man interrupted, and then terminated the call just as the rain started to come down in earnest. He pushed on in a faster, heavy-footed sprint, seeing the white-washed bandstand peeking out from behind the trees. In his periphery vision he spotted something else white – still running, he turned to look at it properly. It was a hand, the fingers just protruding from under an unkempt, wild-looking bush. Behind it, now that Gaara had slowed and was looking, he could make out a creamy fabric and the outline of a person. The rain was now falling in huge, wet gobbets, exploding on Gaara's body and his thin waterproof coat. The redhead was almost tempted to dive under cover, but moral obligation and a deeper gut instinct drove him towards the canopy of the trees with gritted teeth. Even with the thick branches and head of leaves, the downpour didn't lessen – it only pooled in the cupped leaves and sluiced down in large volumes, soaking the crimson locks into a dark burgundy which plastered itself to his forehead. Gaara pushed through the bush, the wet leaves soaking his trousers, and eventually stood over the unmoving figure.

He was clad in some kind of tunic of a wafer thin material, which by this point was drenched through and slicked to his skin in a way eerily reminiscent of a shedding snakeskin. It wasn't an unflattering look though, not in the slightest. In a state of confusion, the redhead made no attempt to restrict his eyes' roving movements over the man's body. Broad shoulders boasted both an elegantly long neck and wiry muscles which rippled along the shoulders. Long arms, similarly muscled, ended in surprisingly long and elegant hands, the fingers not quite slim enough to be called feminine and the palms wide and strong enough to be distinctly male. The torso was wide and powerful – the wet fabric just barely trying to hide the faintly ridged abdominal muscles – and narrowed into a slightly svelte waist. Around the hips was a thick black leather belt from which hung several pouches of varying size, half covering the groin area – Gaara jerked his eyes away from that region quickly. The legs were clad in skin tight faded brown leggings cut off at the calf. His feet were bare.

A freezing cold water rivulet made its gleeful way down the young man's back, and he shivered. Torn between trying to help the man – who still showed no signs of awaking despite the rain which was drumming on his pearlescent skin – and turning tail and running to the nearest towel shop, Gaara looked around, noticing thick branches littering the ground around the prone form. Suspiciously, he looked up, and his eyes widened at a gaping hole in the middle of the close trees, evidence of where the branches and been forcibly torn off the main trunk in the splintered limbs. Disbelieving, the soaking man cast another look at his unconscious companion, who lay directly under the hole.

"He fell from the sky," the redhead muttered to himself, "Figures."

The angled face, with its strong, pointed chin, tapered jawline and elegantly fine features was set in a blank look. Not the face one might call peaceful; it was completely emotionless. He might even have even been dead, had Gaara not been watching the languid rise and fall of his toned chest for the past couple of minutes. Nostrils flared slightly as the air went in, full, half-parted lips moved gently as a raindrop splashed into the corner. The eyelids were completely shut, the thin, silken skin a faint lavender purple, like a fading bruise. Long, water encrusted lashes brushed against the full cheekbones. Lastly was the hair; a slippery satin mass tangled over the bracken and richer than the wet soil it was splayed upon, long wet tendrils snaking over the shoulders and chest.

Gaara could get no wetter. Tremors shook his body like a spruce in a gale and every layer he wore stuck to his skin. Resigned, pissed off, puzzled, resentful – he moved numbly, wondering absently when hypothermia was going to set in, and slid his arms around the stranger's torso, levering him into a sitting position. Even as he knelt beside him he knew this would be a feat maybe even the taller Rock Lee would struggle at. The redhead scraped five foot six; the man he was currently preparing himself to lift, drag – whatever – was at least six foot, if not more. And the simple act of running gave Gaara a stitch.

Shoving the thought aside, he took a deep breath, made a last effort to shrug off the cold, and heaved at the man's compact torso.

_By the Gods!_ Profanities slipped like acrid oil out of the young man's lips, popping in the air as the water bubbles did so out of his mouth. Goddamn, could this guy _get _any heavier? An elephant would be lighter than this! Putting extreme effort into the action, Gaara dug his heels into the soft earth and slipped his grip to under the armpits – there was no way in hell he was lifting this lump. Excruciatingly slowly, they began to move toward the shelter of the gazebo. By the time they had only reached the halfway point, having left the canopy of the trees behind and begun a slow trek across the small oval centre, Gaara's shoulders were burning, his sockets popping painfully. Small white stars were dancing behind his vision, the rain looked like purple crystals falling from the sky and his breath was coming in ragged tatters. He continued, cursing this activity. The unnecessary discomfort was a nasty reminder of the compulsory yearly 'Sports Day' in primary school. Even with the lack of jeering children and parents, without the pressure of winning or doing well, this painful exercise alone was enough of a memory-jogger.

Eventually, after what felt like the longest five minutes of forever, something bumped into Gaara's ankles. Gratefully, he took the steps slowly, wincing as the dead weight he was dragging bounced over the stairs without once flickering an eyelid, into the mercifully rain free air of the bandstand. Still shivering, he left the body where he'd dropped it – no way was he trying to get the man onto one of the benches inside the shelter – and desperately rubbed his arms to try and regain some warmth. He peeled off his anorak and then yanked his sopping black jumper over his head, fingertips by now completely senseless. He donned the waterproof again, just for some semblance of warmth, and proceeded to wring out as much water as he could of the clothing, careful not to let the icy sluice drop on the handsome man laid out on the floor. Satisfied that he'd gotten all the water he could out of it, he draped it on the bench in front of him and fished for his phone. It still emitted a comforting light despite the amount of water on it. He considered calling Lee, but noticed his battery was low. He needed to have the time so that he could catch his bus in an hour and a half. In the meantime, trying to take his mind off of the cold that was gnawing at his bones, he attempted to wake up the comatose man. Considering he had just dragged him across a small field and he hadn't batted an eyelid, he didn't know how to go about it. Kneeling beside him, he could feel the heat resonating from him – like a small furnace in the open shelter. He shuffled closer, and prodded his ribs. There was no response, which wasn't a surprise. Grabbing the muscled shoulders, he shook them roughly, eyes still drawn to the model features. No one could be that chiselled, surely. It made Gaara's fingers itch for his carving knives. But enough of that. He tried vainly to wake the man over the next hour, as the rain lessened from a roar of pounding to a mild drumming on the roof of the wooden gazebo, but to no avail. The marble eyelids remained resolutely closed. The half hour marker began to dwindle, and Gaara realised he should call the hospital, but by now he wasn't sure what to do anymore.

"Wake up!" He cried hoarsely, distress darkening the words, "We've got to get you to a hospital!"

Was it him, or did the lavender eyelids flutter? "Wake up!" He said louder, urgently shaking the shoulders. Prodding the ribs hadn't worked, so he attempted to find the nerve spot along the spine and push it in the hopes that it would jerk him awake. He worked his hand under the heavy man, a way away from the base – from the man's ass, he though, cheeks warming despite the chill – and moved his hand up the notched spine, probing his fingers in to try and find the nerves. As his fingers neared the man's shoulder blades, he thought he felt a ripple run through the hard body he was now nearly pressed against. Easing his hand out slightly, he watched as, slowly, the pair of lids eased up a fraction – not enough for the redhead to determine the colour of the irises but enough to determine that he was bloody still alive.

"Oh thank god," he sighed, trying to lever the man up, but barely succeeding in lifting the torso off the wooden panelled floor. "Hey," he tried instead loudly, tapping the man's face with his free hand. "Get up, we've got to get you to a hospital."

"No…"

Gaara blinked. "Sorry?"

"No hospital," the man objected, his voice husky from the cold in a way that hinted at a tone that should only be used in a bedroom. His eyes were still hooded and dark.

"You're bound to have hypothermia," Gaara argued, internally telling himself that it was probably the same for him, "Can you walk?"

"No…"

"I am not carrying you," Gaara told him irritably. The hospital wasn't too far, on the other side of the park; he could make it if he ran. He still had about twenty five minutes left. "Get up. We need to get you to a doctor, you appear to have fallen through the trees als-"

"_No hospital!_" The man snarled, sitting bolt upright and grabbing the wrist that had been under his back in his fist. The redhead sat, stunned for the nth time that day, as he was skewered on the spot by livid opal eyes, glistening like the pearls that hung about the necks of the richest of women – pupiless but for the faint pooling of glimmering lavender, the same colour as his pale eyelids, in their heart. Gaara blinked slowly under the blistering glare, his stupor dissipating under the merciless gaze to be replaced with annoyance. He tugged his arm against the hold the stranger had on it.

"Let go."

"No."

Irritation flared, itchy and hot under the cold and wet clothes. "Get _off_."

The stranger unfolded the long legs and stood gracefully, like a heron, pulling the shorter man up with him. He stared into the gradually slowing rain, still gripping Gaara's arm a little painfully. Slowly, his eyes grazed over the place where the redhead had found him.

"Get off, you ungrateful prick," the man he was holding hissed, finally succeeding in yanking his arm out of the other man's hold, "That's the last fucking time I'm helping someone." With a disgusted look thrown at the standing man, Gaara grabbed his wet jumper, not bothering to put in on, picked up his phone and ascertained the time before he shoved it deep in his pocket. Irked, he strode past the stranger he had helped on a whim back into the rain, digging with the hand not holding the jumper for the spare change in his other pocket. He exited the park shortly after, and spotted the bus turning into the layby. He entered, shivering in pleasure at the rush of warmth, and shook his head at the driver's questioning glance. He went and tiredly sat in one of the empty seats, noticing the slightly damp passengers edging away from his drowned rat look. It was only then that he noticed he'd received hardly any change for his ticket. He looked up, about to complain, when he saw the drenched long hair sticking to a semi see-through tunic a couple of seats in front of him. Eyes narrow, the bus lurched round a corner and he decided to ask the driver about the change mix-up when he got off.

Sleeping was impossible in his soaking attire, and he spent the entire bus ride in discomfort, wishing for home, a warm change of clothes and a cup of steaming coffee. His fantasy carried him all the way to his stop a half hour later, and he got up, studiously ignoring the prick two seats in front as he passed him, standing by the counter to speak to the driver.

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat hoarsely, "You mixed up the change. I hardly received any coins at all."

The slightly gaunt man blinked at him. "Well, that was because you bought two tickets, one for your friend there." He nodded to something behind Gaara. The redhead turned to see a very familiar tunic-clad figure stepping off the bus. Spluttering, he turned back to the man, only to be waved off. "Go and get dried off you two, you're making a puddle."

It was with disbelief that Gaara watched the bus trundling away down the street, his fist clenched around his measly change. Now thoroughly pissed off, he whirled to the other man.

"What in the name of hell do you think you're doing?"

The tall figure leaned against the wall behind him, hands slipped into the pouches of his belt instead of pockets. He shrugged indifferently. "Well _I _didn't have any money."

For the love of-

Gaara turned on his heel and stormed off, imagining wistfully that he could plant his fist into the man's smirking face and knock out each and every one of those straight and pearly teeth. The scuffle of bare feet behind him elicited a scowl on small features. He decided against turning around and swearing himself cross-eyed at the dashing yet astoundingly agitating person trailing him. What dumb luck they lived nearby, he thought to himself irritably, speeding up. The footsteps behind him remained at the same speed, but they still seemed to be at a constant distance. The redhead pushed his irritation down and turned the corner to his house. Thankfully, the footsteps abated. With no small measure of relief, he turned through the open square archway of his drive, patted the covered bike fondly as he passed it and let himself in. He threw the door shut behind him, but it jerked to a stop, still ajar.

There was a foot in the doorway. The door swung leisurely back, and Gaara caught it before it hit his chin. There, in his doorway, was the tall, dark-haired stranger from before, his arms folded carelessly across his chest.

"What?" He asked testily.

"Nice place." The man walked through the door imperiously, brushing aside the smaller man.

Face twisted in outrage, the redhead put himself between the brunet and the rest of the hallway. "Get out," he said coldly.

Eyes as pale as twin moons gazed overbearingly down at him. A thin pink sliver of a tongue peeked out of the light coral lips and swiped across them. Perplexed, Gaara's scowl deepened. "Why are you still here? Go home," he growled, advancing a step towards the taller man until he could feel the faint heat of his chest. He furrowed his thin, barely-there scarlet brows over his smudged kohl-outlined eyes. The stranger's face was set into lines of casual disdain.

"I don't have a home," came the stoic reply.

"Don't fuck with me," Gaara snapped, now well beyond the boundaries of annoyed and heading towards seeing red.

"It's true." The tall brunet smirked at him. "Or at least not one that I remember. I seem to have hit my head today, and I can't remember anything."

Eyes catlike slits, the redhead was glaring blue murder at the intruder. "Did I _ask _for your fucking life story?" He inquired savagely, before he threw his palms at the man's soaking chest and thrust with all his might.

The stranger didn't move an inch. The redhead looked up, astonished, to see one angled brow cocked over those luminescent eyes. "Are you quite finished?"

"Would you just _get out_!" Gaara yelled exasperatedly.

"No. It's warm in here."

The redhead's scowl was turning murderous. It was at this point that the ever brave Rock Lee would be a dot on the horizon. Yet _still _the infuriating man was here! "Did your parents disown you or something?" He spat.

A slight frown passed over the flawless forehead, something that Gaara didn't miss. "Don't ask about things you know nothing about," came the cutting reply.

"Can't remember anything, my ARSE!" yelled the redhead, furious.

He suddenly found himself pinned against his own front door, which had closed at some point, brilliant diamond eyes inches away from his own angry jade ones. The tip of the alabaster nose touched his own small, slightly upturned one briefly.

"You're annoying me." The warm breath tingled over Gaara's collarbone.

He fought against the iron grip but, to his consternation, couldn't break free at all. "No shit," he snarled into the beautiful, impassive face. "But that's rich coming from you, after _I_ helped you out of the rain, _I _stayed by you to make sure you were _fucking _alive, _I _payed for your bus fare_, _and despite all that, you have broken into my home and are being a fucking. Arrogant. Bastard. And you say that I AM ANNOYING YOU!" He roared, vision hazed by rage. This guy! He was _actually_ going to kill him.

"Huh. You did, did you?" The brunet backed off, a small smirk lingering on the curved lips. "I would thank you, but you're being a brat."

Gaara opened the door behind him. "Get out."

The brunet met his glare, smile gone from the soft lips. His gaze icy, he stared contemptuously at the smaller man. "No."

And with that, he turned to walk down the narrow hallway.

"Y-You… HEY!" Gaara spluttered, letting the door slam behind him as he pelted after the uninvited guest walking through the first door on the left.

"Now _this _is more like it!" Came the distant voice from the other room. Gaara skidded into the kitchen cross living room to see the man looking around the space appreciatively. "I mean, the décor leaves much to be desired, but the space?"

His rage all but gone as soon as he saw the beautiful stranger in his living room, the redhead suddenly felt like lying down and sleeping for a week. What had he done to warrant this? Could he trust this man? He honestly didn't know. But he'd have to until he could call the police, which would be after a change of clothes and a cup of coffee.

"Touch nothing," he said harshly to the model-like man who was picking through the chairs with a politely puzzled look on his face, a fake and ill-masked attempt to conceal his complete scorn at the selection of furniture. "Take nothing, break nothing. If you choose to leave, do _not _take anything with you, because if you _really _can't remember, then that's called _stealing _and it's illegal. And do _not _touch my coffee."

With that, he spun and mounted the spiral staircase, feeling those egocentric eyes drilling haughtily into his back.

Finally in his room, he felt some semblance of normality return. Dim grey light streamed in through the windows as the storm finally wore itself out, and without the lights the magical aura was somewhat diminished. The grey cast to the furniture gave it a more sombre, melancholic mood though, which Gaara felt was fitting. He flicked a switch, and the blue and orange lights came on, the glow not quite expelling the dull gloom. In the light of day, the furniture was finally visible. The four poster, with its tumbling sheets of silk, stood slightly away from the wall so that the fabric could completely cocoon it. The wardrobe, polished and ebony black, stood next to it. Gaara began peeling the chilly garments off his body as he crossed the room, bundling them together and dropping them into a wicker wash basket sat on the carpet next to a door that had previously been invisible in the darkness. The redhead pushed it open and snapped on the light; a small en suite in cream, gold and purple was lit under the spotlights. It was quite a tame bathroom – it had been fitted at a discount by the company Temari worked with, and she had picked out the colour scheme and refused Gaara any other choices but that one. His sister didn't quite share his taste in interior design.

The young Sabaku wrapped his fluffy white towel around him, looking at himself in the wall length mirror. His reflection stared back, pale and thin. The eyeliner had smudged horrifically under the rain, until he resembled a watercolour panda. Heaving a sigh, the man ran a face wipe under his lashes and across his cheekbones, removing all traces of the offensive material. The light green eyes looked small without it. He unhooked another towel from the hook and scrubbed his hair with it, not bothering about being gentle. When he finally emerged, his hair had a dishevelled look – he didn't know which category it fell into: artsy or bedhead. He debated leaving himself as he was, but force of habit had him lining his eyes with the thick black smudges. Finally acceptable, he felt irritation flare at the thought of the man downstairs, but he squashed it. No point having another yelling fit – that man was well and truly in his house now, and he was damn strong too. He didn't what his true incentive was but he sure as hell wasn't going out of his way to find out.

The towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and his skin finally flushing pleasantly back to room temperature, the redhead crossed the room, stepping the wires to various lights, and opened his wardrobe. A black t-shirt and red jeans were selected at random and flung on the bed as Gaara rooted for some clean underwear and a jumper. He pulled them on unseeingly – with a grunt he had to turn his t-shirt around, noticing as he did that it was the v-neck cut he liked – and finally reached for the small phone handset by the bed. The buttons glowed purple and yellow.

_9.9.9._

Just as he was about the press the green call button, the phone was yanked out of his hands. He whirled to see the small black device disappearing through the folds of fabric in the piano hands of the stranger – the stranger who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the tunic shed somewhere; he only wore the original brown leather cut-offs. Gaara swallowed before he could help himself. The blankly impassive look was back in the pearl eyes, the luscious mouth set in a line. The blue and orange lights glistened off the naked chest.

There was a long pause in which neither man moved, save for the black phone twirling through long fingers. The '999' flashed in and out of sight as the gadget flipped around.

"I am a guest in your house, no?" Came the low voice after an age. "You should offer me a change of clothes and a beverage."

Ignoring the reprimand, his heart a little uneven as he considered the prospects – druggie? Murderer? Psychopathic asylum escapee? – he cleared his throat. "Guests are usually invited in," he replied in a deadpan voice.

"True," came the nonchalant agreement. "You look so much better now that you've cleaned your face."

"What do you want?" the redhead asked, keeping his tone neutral. He ignored the disdainful compliment. "Why are you here?"

The gleaming lights rippled over the cream skin as the shoulders moved in a placid shrug, eyes still glinting with imperious inner light. "No particular reason I guess. I just needed a place to stay."

"Then why me?" Gaara asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep his temper in check.

"No. Reason." The patronising voice explained with an exaggerated patience. The redhead's teeth ground together with more force. "You were there. There was convenient." Another shrug, reeking of arrogance and self-superiority. "Don't flatter yourself, brat, you were there at the right place and the right time. So I chose you."

"I'm calling the police," Gaara said shortly, making to stride out of the room.

Again he was stopped, this time by hands that yanked him around and gripped his shoulders, lifting him off the ground like he was made of air and thrusting him into a corner of his room.

"I chose you," were the blistering words from the sinfully pale peach lips. "So you will not run from me."

"Fucking chose me for what," the redhead replied scathingly, trying to pretend he wasn't trapped in a corner by someone who may or may not be deranged.

"To be my… 'keeper'," the smirk was back in full force, "Until I can go home."

Gaara was seriously getting whiplash. "You just said you don't have a home," he bit out.

The hands on his shoulders turned into talons, giving him a small shake. "Not here on _earth_, dipshit."

The redhead allowed himself one nod. Mad.

But the handsome, moon-eyed stranger hadn't finished. "I can't_ remember_, dick. I can't remember anything, but having only just met you, and the things that come out of that irritating little mouth –" his index finger hovered close to the smaller man's lips; Gaara considered ripping the nail off with his teeth until he decided it might leave him disembowelled, "I _have _remembered. So I am going to stay here until I remember who I am." The speech was finished in a guttural snarl.

Gaara knew he would be pushing boundaries, but frankly, he didn't care. "No."

The diamond eyes drilled into him mercilessly. "It _wasn't_ a question."

"You can't do this," the redhead objected in a fierce whisper.

The response came as a husky maple hum against his exposed throat, the lips soft and sinful against the skin there. "Stop me then."

With the angled jaw buried in his neck, Gaara's eyes opened as wide as the moon, his deep crimson lashes brushing his almost hairless eyebrows as white-gold light appeared in a 'V' shape on the naked back he was looking down. The light brightened, widened and burst out of the intricate tattoo, quickly forming a recognisable shape, glancing off the items in his room, highlighting the delicate cherubs carved into the maple posts before it became more contracted. The blinding flash seemed to focus inwards, leaving the redhead's eyes stinging and weeping, as solid matter became more defined; an almost translucent softness that looked like…

"Feathers…" Gaara hissed.

As if in response, the wings unfolded in front of his huge emerald eyes, light-refracting exquisite silkiness slightly clouded by a pearlescent lavender haze. They were just like the masterful statues created by blind sculptors who claimed they had been touched by Heaven – more divine, in fact, than even those. The captive man hadn't yet touched them, but the way they moved in a gentle breeze drifting from the cracked window hinted at their satiny texture. Even in the dreary light, their glow was glorious. It was beyond the redhead's imagination to think what they'd be like in the sunshine.

"Do you like them?" There was a silky chuckle.

The lips had disappeared from the young man's throat at some point, and a luke-warm tickle of air that smelled alarmingly like a fresh summer breeze was brushing over Gaara's skin. He ignored the burning white eyes boring a hole in the side of his face, still all too aware of the heat and proximity of the – whatever he was. He didn't bother to struggle against his captor, schooling his face so that his eyes weren't riveted to the phenomenon in front of them. He mirrored the stranger's detached shrug.

"They're alright."

"You're lying." The voice was musical and amused, arrogance still seeping into every syllable. The heat slowly moved away from him, but instead of bolting like he wanted to, Gaara made himself lean against the wall and feign indifference. He studiously ignored the creature in front of him to look around his room in a slow, unruffled manner.

"My house isn't equipped for someone with special needs. You'll have to find a specialised care home."

There was another small laugh, a dangerous one this time. "I think yours is perfectly adequate."

_Get away._ It seemed a good option. The redhead forced himself to saunter past the tall man, ignoring the limbs that emitted a soft glow as he stepped away from the light of the window and into the shaded corner of the room. The redhead pulled open the bedroom door and lightly jogged down the metal staircase. It would take the wing-man a while to traverse the tight spiral of the stairs. Feeling slightly satisfied, he reached the bottom and hastened to the kitchen. _The car or the bike? Car will be easier, but I'd rather take the bike-_

His inner musing was interrupted as soon as he'd taken two steps away from the stairs, by the long-haired brunet dropping out of the air, having jumped from the balcony, luminescent wings folded tightly against his back. Gaara kicked back the urge to blink in surprise and went around this new anomaly without missing a beat.

His bicep was suddenly tangled in long fingers. "You are walking with purpose."

Fuck. He forced an eyeroll. "I need coffee, urgently."

"Your medication?"

Don't snap, don't snap. "No."

"Then it's not urgent."

There was no point struggling against that grip, Gaara knew. He focused a subdued stare into the brilliant mercury eyes, waiting patiently for the hand to release him.

"I don't even know your name, brat." The lips quirked up again, condescension swirling over the face in a thick cloud. Hard agate eyes burned at him.

But the redhead knew he wouldn't be released any time soon – he'd have to find some way to escape another time. The man was too alert. "Gaara," he conceded grudgingly. The steel grip loosened, and he immediately tore his arm out of the grip. The brunet looked mildly amused.

"Neji."

Deep malachite pools sought to drive into the pale, white-tinged-with-lavender orbs high above his eye line. "I thought you had amnesia," came the accusation.

"That's one of the few things I do remember," Neji replied, the uber-politeness upset by the supercilious smirk perfectly ruining his fine features, in Gaara's opinion. "Neji Hyuuga."

"Gaara Sabaku," the shorter man said resentfully in response to the prompting eyebrow lift.

"Well,_ Gaara __Sabaku_…" The man rolled it experimentally around his tongue, hurring on the 'r'.

"Just what the fuck are you anyway," the young man in question snapped.

"Temper," the brunet chastised him, pale eyes gleaming, "I am an angel, Gaara, although I don't expect such underlings as you to understand that term. And don't," he added smoothly, seeing the redhead's surly expression and parting lips, "Ask me how I know. I saw those carvings you did in your bed post and I knew then." The angel allowed a moment for questions. Gaara's face remained stony. "Now, show me this thing you call 'coffee'."

The smirk tilted in amusement as the short redhead stormed over to the kitchen.

* * *

**Notes: **This comes up briefly, so I'll just clarify: I am 100% British. Therefore, I will be using the British education system. It goes: Preschool (Kindergarten); Primary School (4/5-10); Secondary School (11-15); Sixth Form (16-18); and then University. I'm forever googling 'freshman year', for example, because I have no clue how any other education system in any country works. Apologies for my ignorance. This won't be a big thing, I just wanted to have it all cleared up. Also: 999 instead of 911. Did the Americans change it because if you flip it upside down it turns into 666? :P

**More Notes: **The summary is misleading. Originally it was 'wings of '_translucent lavender_',' but it was too long, so I had to change it to 'wings of '_purest white'_. Very misleading. I hope you all enjoyed! I felt an indescribable amount of joy writing this – the idea has been rattling like a loose screw around my brain for TOO LONG! (A week). Also, Tenten doesn't have a surname, so I made one up for her. It may or may not be relevant.

There will no actual cities or places in this story, because my travel experience is limited, and besides, making stuff up is so fun anyway.

:)


	2. Birds Of A Feather

**Notes:** I honestly thought that, by now, my other story, _**Tatties and Ink,**_would be updated. Clearly not. I am having MAJOR SUPER INDESCRIBABLE block for that story. It is NOT on hiatus, I just need to be struck by lightning or receive a visit from some divine entity before the next chapter comes out! I am hoping it will be shortly.

In the meantime... I love this story. I am going to marry it. One last thing - do you like my cover art? :3 It's watercolour and pen, and a combination of a couple of pictures I found on the internet - I will hunt them down and prove my non-plagiarising, but for the time being, I shall just assure anyone who may be reading - THEY DIDN'T COME ENTIRELY FROM MY IMAGINATION!

**I DISCLAIM!** Now read on!

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**Birds of a Feather

Gaara stared up at the four curving beams that formed a bendy 'X' above his head. Moving his hand lightly along the sheets under the black quilt, barely eliciting the slightest rustle, he felt for the trailing switch just hanging off the side of the bed and pressed it. A dim spotlight glowed into sleepy luminescence above his head, inciting an ethereal glow from the thin layers of fabric on all sides of him.

It was the next morning. The day had dawned hazy but bright – the sun emitting a dozy kind of light with the lingering shades of dawn still present. It was eight o'clock. Escape day.

Gaara had no doubts that his… uninvited houseguest would be up. He was underestimating him no longer. He would assume the worst in all situations – with good reason too. He hardly knew this brunet stranger, this so called 'angel', this Neji. But what he did know… He held up both closed fists and began a tally on his fingers. Crazily strong. Probably able to fly. Arrogant. Temperamental. Intelligent. A bastard. Arrogant. Doesn't understand 'no'. Gets his own way.

The redhead frowned at the nine lifted digits. He was missing one. He raised his eyes skyward as if in deep, deep contemplation. _Wait… I can almost remember – ah yes. Arrogant'._ Gaara looked at the splayed hands before him and nodded. That about summed him up.

He sneezed without warning. Slightly groggily, he rubbed a hand under his nose; he must have gotten a cold from his extended freezing shower yesterday. A long exhalation of air that could have been a weary sigh peeled out of his lips. He was not ready to face this day yet. But nor did he want to hang around in such a vulnerable position with a stranger who refused to leave the premises still nearby. His head still a little heavy, the redhead slid out of the warm ball he had created in between the sheets and crossed the room to the bathroom, stepping straight into the shower.

The cascading water succeeded in clearing his head somewhat. Mouth quirked down slightly, he squeezed a generous dollop of shampoo into his palm and slicked it through his wet locks, scrubbing it vigorously to create a lather. He fleshed out his escape plan as he rinsed the suds from his body. Go to Lee's. That much was obvious. But so far, that was all he had.

The temperamental shower head gave a sputter as he tilted his head back into it, and the temperature dipped to an unacceptable luke-warm. Annoyed, the redhead knocked it off and stepped into the thick towel draped over the toilet seat. He could explain he needed to shop – for food or clothes… Gaara shook his head, mentally dismissing it. Either the prat would accompany him or just downright refuse to let him leave. Nor could he slam a frying pan over his head – he was pretty sure any attempt on the stranger's life would see him in a shallow grave. A shiver coursed through the redhead's body. He was genuinely scared of what this man would do. He couldn't stay here.

This left the third option: slipping out. Out of his bedroom window was an option, but it was a long way down. Out of one of the lower windows would be preferable, but more obvious. This Neji had already proven his strength by lifting him clean off the ground the day before and shoving him against a wall.

Slim fingers clutched at the hem of the towel wrapped around his body. And as for those… _things._ Gaara screwed his eyes shut for a moment. Those protrusions from the flawless back, bursting from either side of the faintly visible spine in lustrous glory. The eyes snapped open as he shook his head sharply – he wouldn't think about what abnormality was currently residing in his house.

Moving quickly, he pulled on some hastily snatched garments; his work uniform still stowed away in its drawer. He had the weekend off, but he didn't know if that was a mercy or not. Messily sweeping black lines were applied in the small mirror on his vanity, and as Gaara dropped the much-used stub of a pencil back onto the surface, he took in what he was wearing with a hint of a frown. Khaki jeans and a black vest. An almost army-style combination, but at the moment he wasn't bothered. He grabbed a blood red zip-up from his wardrobe and hurried out of the bedroom. He would try tactic one: attempt to leave in the normal way. If it didn't work, well then that was when things would get drastic.

Gaara took the stairs in a hurry, and it was only when he reached the bottom step did he realise with a curse that he should have done a sweep of the room to spot the brunet. From a restricted vantage point on the ground, the redhead had no idea where his unwanted guest was lurking.

"Don't look so edgy," a casual voice advised suddenly from somewhere in the room. Gaara tried to look for the source without seeming jumpy. "I have no desire for your body whatsoever. You're too scrawny, short and strange looking. And you dye your hair in a fake shade."

"It's natural," Gaara retorted in a flat tone.

"Strip from the waist down and I'll be the judge of that."

"Take your head out of your arse and maybe I will," the redhead countered irritably.

"Gosh, that sounds like a come-on. What do you propose we put there instead?"

Finally the shorter man spotted a long leg extended and resting carelessly on a makeshift footstool made of a pile of tattered paperbacks. Steel agate eyes flashed as their owner moved through the rainbow array of chairs on the abstract rug to take in the magnificent tribute to the male form reclining on Gaara's favourite sky-blue armchair. The stacks of books and notepads surrounding the chair had previously hidden the sprawled figure from view.

"You're a dick," he growled.

The sneer widened. "What a one track mind you have, little one."

"Don't presume you have the right to give me a pet name," the redhead rebuked him sharply.

Eyes of iridescent purple-ivory studiously studied a fingernail. Gaara felt sure he knew what was coming – "I have every right. You are my keeper."

The smaller man didn't dignify that with a response, trudging instead back to the kitchen and turning his back on his the wall clustered with shelves and the man cutting an arrogant pose in his favourite seat. The click of the kettle pacified him somewhat. He spooned the coffee into the mug, nostrils flaring at the barest hint of it in the air, and poured the water just before the whistle went off.

"It's that stuff again."

Gaara jumped horrifically, narrowing jerking his hand out of the way of the boiling water he sprayed over the counter. "Stop _doing_ that," he snapped.

Mercury eyes penetrated deep into his own as he looked up. The silky lips were pursed. "_Ouch._"

Jade eyes flickered down at the alabaster hand which was palm down on the worktop. The scorching water had completely doused it, and the skin had already flushed and was beginning to blister. Thoughts had barely formed in the redhead's mind of cold water and a bandage when the skin gave an almost imperceptible ripple. The veins under the skin seemed almost to give a faint glow, and before the widening green eyes the burn was eating itself away from the inside out – until, just moments later, the glow subsided and the skin was unblemished white again.

"That's interesting."

Eyes narrow, Gaara just drank his coffee in silence. A pale gaze burrowed into his face as he turned away a few minutes later, a seeking look that he had no intention of being caught into. The man had wings – which, come to think, were absent this morning – and he could heal himself. Mind-reading was not too far out of the equation. "I'm going out."

"No."

The other man halted, slightly tilting his head around. "I'm your keeper, no? So pipe down and stop trying to dictate what I do."

The cool voice kept him from walking off. "I said keeper, not master. Your job is to feed me, clothe me, and house me, until I can leave this goddamn planet."

"And go where?" Gaara snapped, and stormed to the hallway door. He stopped so fast he nearly fell over when a tall, muscled body stepped in front of it.

"I said… _no._" The lashed orbs were solid steel in the hardened face, a black expression etched into the sculpted features. The rich earthen locks were loose, tumbling with serene grace over the toned shoulders and smooth ridged planes of the chest. The brunet was wearing a too-tight white t-shirt, one of Lee's that had been in the wash from when he'd last been over.

A frown formed like a growing storm over the redhead's features. "You can't stop me," he told him, somewhat incredulous that he was attempting.

"Of course I can." The haughtiness of the statement was staggering.

"No," Gaara retaliated in a dangerously emotionless voice, "You can't restrict a person's free will."

A predatory tilt of the lips over the blank, imperious gaze was the only forewarning. A small gleaming pool of light lit the hair at the man's nape. The sharp chin and full jawline tilted back, knocking the waterfall of dark hair over his ears; the bare expanse of the throat glistened under the light of the fake chandeliers of Gaara's ceiling. An eyebrow arched into an expression of pure arrogance. "Of course I fucking can."

The wings snapped open to their full extent, catching the broken light the overhead glass threw and scattering it over the broad shoulders and gleaming torso. The man's sinuous body leaned forwards, and one strong beat later found the smaller man airborne, a gush of wind pulling his hair around where once it had been stagnant and breeze-free. The ride was fleeting – the brunet made a well-executed landing on the railing of the jutting inside balcony and the next thing he knew, Gaara was falling into his bedroom and the door was shutting behind him. The clunk of the key turning followed.

Gaara Sabaku was known for his ability to adapt, and within seconds his brain had pushed the fresh, unreal experience into a 'to-look-at-later' box in his brain, and he found his body flush against the door, hammering on it with his fists. "You cannot _lock_ me in my own room, you arsehole!" He roared through the wood. His only response was a muffled 'whoosh' as the man took jumped through the air. He tried the knob, but the door was securely bolted. Knees weak, he sank to the floor.

"That guy is fucking being made into a pie," he snarled to himself, turned and looked around the room: his new prison. Time for Plan B.

Moving with urgency, Gaara pulled the larger towels out of the cupboard in the bathroom, stripped his bed of sheets and extracted his least loved pairs of trousers from the wardrobe. His bounty spread before him and a determined look on his face, nimble fingers made quick work of knotting the fabrics together. Eventually, several metres of makeshift rope coiled around him and a triumphant smile graced his face.

_'Wait till Lee hears about this. He though my bed was princess-like enough, he'll have a field day when he hears I've turned myself into Rapunzel'_. The smirk widened, and with a practiced movement, as if he'd been doing it all his life, he twisted the end of the rope – a pair of too-small jeans – around the curtain pole in the corner window. He knew that this one was not in front of any windows on the lower level, and he would not be spotted if Neji was looking outside. A slight wince crossed his features. If he was caught… An image of the enraged marble features, the flashing opalescent eyes, emerged from his memory. Well, if that was the case, he'd better hope the man was just as bad at running as he was.

It was with chagrin that he realised he hadn't snatched any of his sets of keys from downstairs – which meant he would have to walk to Lee's. Shrugging off the set-back, the redhead grabbed the hand-made coil and carefully lowered it out of the window. It was slightly too long, and folded on the smooth stone of the driveway. Gaara quickly ditched his red zip-up for a black hoodie, and he pulled the hood up to conceal his distinctive hair before he swung a leg over the window, straddling it. The drop suddenly seemed to stretch before his eyes; the wall became a dizzying mess of rows upon rows of red brick, the rusty Peugeot and the covered bike like ants on the ground.

Gaara steeled himself firmly. It would not do now to freak out on himself. He gripped the mock-rope tightly in faintly sweaty hands, and before his brain could scream another warning, swung his other leg out and began to abseil down the wall. His heart thundered in his chest at the pure rebelliousness of it, every little shift of the rope incited the fear that the knots were loosening. The climb took forever, the fresh terror that any minute now the massive winged man would be plucking him from his rope like a beetle from a vine twisting the redhead's stomach.

His foot touched something solid.

All the air whooshed out of the young man's chest in relief, and it took supreme effort not to collapse in a jellified heap on the stone. Instead, he slunk towards the brick wall enclosing his large drive and flattened himself to it. He stayed like that for long enough to determine that there was no movement before he began to slide along the wall to the exit.

It was the unfortunate truth that there was one way in and one way out in his driveway – the large double archway directly in front of the windows and door to his house. It would be stealth and no small measure of luck that was going to get him out unnoticed, provided as well, that the man's eyes were not as sharp as his tongue. As Gaara neared the covered bike, he crouched low behind it, eyes riveted to the windows of the kitchen. Nothing moved in them. Crouching low enough that his chin scraped the ground, the redhead made a speedy move in sideways crab-style across the open gap to the silver car. It was the last form of cover before the exit a couple of meters away. Gaara hunkered by the front wheels, eyes trained on the windows. Still no movement.

He sprinted for the archway, expecting wings at his back, hands on his hoodie, a snide, dangerous voice in his ear. He wheeled around the brick and set out down the road for the main street at a run, and it was only when he made a left turn on the street did he realise Neji hadn't followed him. A gush of warm relief tingled through his body, but he rebuked the urge to relax and catch his breath – instead slowing his sprint to an inconspicuous jog, keeping close to the walls. The small, nervous lump in his throat didn't leave as legs started to burn. _Knew I should have been an athlete,_ he thought sourly to himself, crossing the road with a small crowd of people, unable to stop the urgency that pulled him ahead of their languorous pace.

The empty windows of a furniture store that had only last week been active slowed Gaara's purposeful stride. He stared deep into the shell of the little shop as he cut into the side-road next to it. The vacated premises were nothing new, but the type of business was worrying. Normally, the redhead would be crowing that it meant less competition for his work, but under the circumstances, it was just another ball of worry to contend with in his stomach.

His pace picked up as he delved further into the side road, until he finally came to the pine-green door of his friend's house. Instead of sprawling outwards, as did the homes further out in the suburbs, this house rose upwards in three stories. It was along a row of similar-looking buildings with a varied array of coloured doors. The redhead walked past the rain-faded 'For Sale' sign in the small yard and grasped the brass knocker – fish shaped – just before it was ripped out of his hands as the door swung inwards.

"Gaara!" Lee exclaimed, looking taken aback; his heavy eyebrows lifted above his penny-shaped eyes in surprise as he froze in the act of pulling his phone from his jean pockets. "What a surprise my friend! You didn't call me yesterday!" It was said in a disapproving tone as he wagged his finger at his smaller friend. The impassive green gaze didn't waver as he chastised him. "I was just coming over to see you."

A small hand came up and pulled the hood down, tugging distractedly through the flattened locks. "I have a problem Lee," he began haltingly, unsure, now that he was here, how to phrase it.

"Do tell Gaara!" The black-haired man prompted cheerfully.

_I have a psychotic yet stunningly beautiful man with amnesia who refuses to leave my home and may or may not be human._ It sounded stupid. "I have-"

"A lodger," came a smooth, dusky voice from the path. Both men whipped round to look curiously at the marble figure standing on the pavement, looking for all the world like he'd emerged from the stone under his feet. Recognition dawned, followed by dread which coated the pit of Gaara's stomach in a slippery black lining. In a detached part of his mind separate from the majority which was mentally writing himself a will, he noticed that the brunet still went shoeless.

Lee broke the silence. "A lodger!" He repeated incredulously, taking a step out of his house to clap a hand on the dumbstruck man's shoulder. "Gaara, what an excellent idea!"

"No, I-" he tried to protest, but the sight of the long-haired man walking sinuously toward him, mercury eyes burning themselves into the back of his skull, effectively stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Hyuuga Neji," the pale-eyed man said warmly, holding out a hand to the beaming Rock Lee, who accepted it enthusiastically. One cold flick of the icy pupils into the redhead's own defeated aquamarine ones was enough to indicate him of the man's intense displeasure. It was like a rock dropping into Gaara's stomach.

"It is my extreme pleasure to meet you!" The excitable man said, a wide, toothy smile on his face. "Please, come in!"

"Thank you for the offer, but Gaara merely want to introduce me to his best friend," the Hyuuga declined in a smooth, apologetic tone.

"Nonsense!" Lee argued good-naturedly, grabbing the brunet's arm and pulling him inside, flapping a hand for the redhead to follow. He did so with a sombre expression. "But my, what's this! You have no shoes!" Surprised eyes traced the long-limbed, perfectly structured form. "And, Gaara!" The black-haired man turned accusingly to his smaller friend, who stood silently in the doorway. "Is that my shirt?"

"I apologise," Hyuuga intervened smoothly, "It looked like mine. I shall be sure to return it to you promptly. Gaara and I were just about to go shopping for some clothes of my own, as…" The brilliant silver eyes met those of the redhead, "many of mine were shrunk in the wash."

The smaller man recoiled under the harsh scrutiny.

Lee – completely oblivious – beamed with delight. "In the meantime, you may borrow some of mine! The shirts will doubtless be too small, but I have trousers that may fit!" he offered, an innocent smile stretching his mouth. It was returned by the brunet, although Gaara noticed that it didn't quite meet his eyes. The long-haired man allowed himself to be pulled through the bright hallway into the living room. It was furnished in light, subtle creams and warm browns – and Gaara knew instinctively that it was Lee's girlfriend, Tenten, who was responsible. The only anomaly in the room was a cross-trainer stood against the far wall. Neji was practically shoved into the beige sofa, and a few seconds later, the redhead followed as Lee prattled on about milk and a pair of loaned shoes. A grinned instruction to 'stay put', and the gangly man bounded from the room. An uncomfortable silence settled over the pair. Gaara, having been pushed by Lee into the chair, suddenly found himself too-close to the warm side of the taller man; tugging his elbow tight into his side to stop it from brushing Hyuuga's.

The brunet whipped round suddenly, making him jump. A hand rose and cupped his jaw, forcing his head round. Reluctantly, the redhead found himself face to face with the quietly livid angel. The thin, porcelain lips were parted to reveal the dark red interior, the eyes – framed by their thick lashes the same colour as the rich fall of hair – were narrowed.

"Care for an explanation?" he inquired flatly.

"No." Gaara replied in an equally dead voice, battling down his fear in favour of a frosty expression. "I don't need to explain myself when I want to see my friend. You've known me for two days – less! You intolerable pric-"

His head was thrust away, the subtly furious expression concealed under layers of pleasantry just as Lee walked in, carrying a large tray in his hands. Under his load, a pair of dark grey trainers swung off his pinky finger. Catching the corner of a small table with his ankle, Lee dragged it over the carpet in front of the duo and set the tray on it. It held four squat glasses of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. The thickly-browed man snagged one just as his leggy beauty of a girlfriend walked into the room.

A waxed brow lifted on her sweet, heart-shaped face in confusion. "Lee, eating sweets? What is the world coming to?"

"Ah, Tenten," Lee shook his head sorrowfully at her, "Today is an exception! Gaara has admitted a new inhabitant into his living space!"

"Oh really?" An indulgent smile slipped onto the round face, the woman barely batting an eyelid at Lee's strange way of speaking as she turned to the sofa. Her face froze in its light smile for the briefest second – allowing a small flash of - something - behind her hazelnut eyes before she warmly bent and pecked the long-haired man on the cheeks. None of the three appeared to notice.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you…?"

"Neji," came the gentlemanly reply, "Neji Hyuuga."

She smiled distractedly at him, before she perched on the plush stool Lee had dragged over for her. It was still somewhat beyond Gaara's knowledge how the athlete had managed to score such a model-like partner. His friend was enthusiastic, sweet in a childish kind of way and undoubtedly a good man – in fact he possessed all the good qualities a human could have – but he did, and even he admitted this, fall a little short in the looks department. He was tall, but in a gangly kind of way, his hair was sleekly black and super shiny, and yet he wore it in a bowl-cut in respect of his favourite gym trainer – and nothing Gaara or Tenten said would change his adamant refusal to get a hair-styling. And his fashion sense was… bright on the best of days.

On the other hand, Tenten Oshimu – Lee's girlfriend of 8 months – was a tall, slender woman with a heart-shaped face, framed by wavy lengths of hair that was often coiled in two buns on either side of her head – her panda ears, she called them. Wide, round eyes with glimmering hazelnut irises were surrounded by long, naturally curled lashes above a cute button nose, and plush pink lips curved in a faint, unconscious pout. Her entire body – of which Gaara had seen flashes when they went swimming – was a flawless tribute to peaches and cream, and she kept herself fit by training with Lee. Gaara had seen her in action, and was morbidly afraid of the knives in his kitchen for about a week afterwards.

"So, how long have you been lodging with Gaara?" she asked in her birdsong-like voice, sipping the milk from one of the glasses. The redhead hadn't touched his.

"Oh, a matter of days," the brunet replied in a mild voice. "His house is very interestingly decorated, to say the least."

_Liar_, Gaara snarled to himself, recalling the man's exact words from the day before. He cast a heated glare at Hyuuga, who turned his head at that exact moment. Their eyes met for a half-second before the redhead turned away. He clearly saw the self-satisfied amusement in those liquid irises. Angrily, he grabbed a cookie.

"That's our Gaara for you! His mind is like his house, full of bright lights and strange colours!" Lee informed the long-haired man cheerfully, chugging his milk. Tenten giggled at the white moustache across his lips when he put the cup down. The young Sabaku sank even further into a pit of self-mortification; he could feel the waves of dark humour coming from the man next to him. He shifted away slightly. "How did you meet any way?" the athlete continued, a mildly bemused look on his face.

"Yesterday, in the park. We got talking, and the suggestion came to lodge," Hyuuga gave an easy shrug in the gap between his lies, "I didn't have enough to rent an entire apartment anymore, so this was a life-saving occurrence." A fake cheerful expression plastered itself across the marble features.

"Gaara! Your innovative ideas never fail to surprise and cheer me!" The black-haired man gushed, "And a lodger is exactly what you need in this ill-timed recession! Another source of income is always welcome!"

_If only_, thought Gaara resentfully. Little did his oblivious friend know, this was both an unwilling and unpaid partnership. _In fact it seems like I'll be paying for him. A bit like having an ill-tempered dog._

His foul mood only exacerbated, he grabbed another cookie and bit viciously into it.

"So you two seem like a happily settled couple," Neji observed in a breezy tone that Gaara did not for one minute believe was real, "Have you been together long?"

"Nine months this October!" The athlete proclaimed proudly. Tenten laced her fingers in his.

"Ah." The Hyuuga nodded as if he were at all interested, "So what do you do then?" It was addressed to Tenten.

"I model," she replied with a genuine smile, "I'm with a company in the centre of Konohagakure."

"The Hub," the two men corrected simultaneously, out of habit. Tenten laughed at the pair; it was a long-standing joke that existed between the three of them. Lee and Gaara assured her that they would keep doing it until she dropped her Hub mannerisms and turned to their self-proclaimed dark side.

"Prestigious," the brunet noted in an offhand voice, causing a light blush to appear on Tenten's cheeks.

"I suppose. I mean, it pays well," she replied, slightly self-consciously.

"Tenten also has her hand in interior design," Lee informed the stranger among their midst in a proud voice. "She singlehandedly designed the rooms in this house herself!"

"Yet it is not enough to entice a sale?"

Hyuuga's apparently random point struck a chord. Lee's face turned uncharacteristically grave. "You yourself must know it, Neji," he said sombrely, "This recession is so fierce that it would not matter if this house had a pool and a helicopter launch pad, it still would not sell."

The woman next to him patted his hand comfortingly, and his smile returned, even if it was a little on the small side.

Tenten explained. "We were going to sell up and move closer to the centr-"

"The Hub," came the monotonous duet.

Smiling slightly, she carried on, "For my work and Lee's training, but the truth is that it is too expensive, and the way the house prices are at the moment, we would be hard pushed to buy anything closer to the cen- _Hub_ –" she corrected herself at the glances of the duo, "with the meagre price we would obtain from this."

"Yosh," agreed the athlete sadly.

"Well, then at least I shall see more of you if you stay in the area," the brunet replied pleasantly. Gaara squashed the urge to gag at the smarmy tone. "And now I do believe we have imposed on your company long enough." He stood on those supple, toned limbs of his and reached an arm out to shake Lee's hand.

"It is no problem at all, any friend of Gaara's is a friend of ours!"

_He is not my friend._ The words already sounded tired in the redhead's mind.

He stood and waited as the tall brunet put on the shoes offered to him by beaming athlete and they were waved out of the house by the pair, who loudly wished them happy shopping before the green door shut behind them. Gaara was alone again.

"Well that was trying." The honeyed tone had slipped away completely, and the vainly bored expression was back on the brunet's face.

"I didn't _ask_ you to come along," the redhead muttered through gritted teeth, half to himself.

"You didn't leave me a choice," Neji replied, irritation colouring the words.

A sigh made it through the shorter man's clenched jaw. "When are you going to go away?" It came out with a desperate, imploring inflection ringing through the words.

The pale pearl eyes turned on him. "You really dislike me that much?"

"Your personality gets a bit grating after a while," Gaara snapped back, flashing teal eyes turning on the refined figure walking alongside him.

"Rich coming from you."

"You're a first class arse," was the response as if the brunet's previous statement were complete testament to that fact.

"For that comment, you can buy me a new wardrobe and lunch." The superior smirk was back, twisting the masterfully designed face. Gaara watched the play of light on the strong cheekbones; it seemed the week-long summer storm had finally blown itself out, and the sun had decided to show its warm face in the sky again.

"Where did you come from?" the redhead asked in a weary curiosity.

"I fell." It was a short, sharp answer.

"From where?" He paused dubiously, "Heaven?"

Hyuuga halted in his tracks, and Gaara had walked a couple more steps before he realised his 'lodger' was not following. He looked questioningly at the brunet, but found the glistening ivory gaze clouded over and unfocused. The lips had abruptly dropped their cynical twist, the corners pointed downwards slightly. The redhead took a step back, head tilting quizzically, but it was as if he'd suddenly ceased to exist to the angel.

Thin brows dropped over thickly-shaded eyes. "Hyuuga," he said sharply.

Reflection returned to the glazed diamonds, and with a slow owl-like blink, the brunet returned. He took a few steps forward, until he was about a foot away from the redhead. He stood where a strong shaft of sunlight fell, and the effect was a burning, roiling mass of shimmering pearl and dew-encrusted lavender. Inner glow seemingly reignited, the Hyuuga said nothing, but stared intently into mystified agate eyes as if the answers he seeked were written in there.

"_What?_" Gaara forced out testily.

Long, soft lashes dipped over the opal pools for a second, before the tall man brushed imperiously past the smaller one. "Nothing. I just remembered something."

The redhead watched the retreating back, clad in Lee's too-tight t-shirt, very nearly but not quite struck dumb. He watched as the statuesque figure paused, half-turned and cast a presumptuous expectant look back at him. In a gesture that was fast becoming familiar, a noble brow lifted in a slight arch. "Those two sentences contradict each other!" He pointed out, feeling provoked.

"Would you hurry up," the liquid maple tones didn't even try and hide the evident impatience, "I've been wearing these trousers for over twenty four hours."

"And what do you propose _I _do about it," came the faintly hissed reply. Muttering under his breath, the redhead caught up with the stunning creation in front of him. The sun seemed to forego all other objects, and solely focused its soft, fuzzy-edged brightness on defining the contours of the brunet's face, picking out each strand in the luxurious head of hair and casting them in a different shade. Annoyance spiked in Gaara's chest as he appraised the sophisticated figure out of his periphery vision. He could have chosen _anyone._ They would have bent over backwards to help such a well-bred specimen. He dropped his gaze to the sun-warmed tarmac; he just didn't have the time or the money to look after some pot-head, no matter how attractive he was.

"I feel I've met that Tenten somewhere before." The contemplative voice broke through Gaara's self-reflective musing. He stared at the brunet in disbelief. The condescending expression was for once absent from the chiselled features; instead dominated by one of musing thoughtfulness. His bright eyes flickered over and noticed Gaara's shocked expression. "What?" he sneered at him.

The redhead turned his head away to look back up the street. He was back to normal again. "You weren't a bastard for a few seconds." He dropped an unconcerned half shrug. "Surprised me, that's all."

"I don't think I was a bastard before," Neji countered, again in that strangely amicable tone.

The young man flickered his gaze over him. "I find that hard to believe."

"Of course you would, you're determined to see the worst in me," the brunet said dismissively, enforcing it with a flick of his hand.

Gaara frowned at him. "I'm not determined to, I _do_ see the worst in you. You're a poor excuse for a human being." The self-important silvery eyes flashed over to his face. The humour that Hyuuga was feeling at some private joke annoyed his unwilling companion.

"A poor excuse for a human being," Neji repeated sarcastically. "What a crap insult. I'm not human, dipshit."

"Then stop speaking our language," Gaara retorted brusquely, feeling the unquenchable annoyance flare up again. Gods but did this man rile him up.

"Your history is flawed, boy, you're speaking our language."

The redhead was just opening his mouth to make a cutting remark determining his age when the inwards-turned unfocused eyes of the brunet flicked to the front of his mind. "What did you remember?" he asked grudgingly instead, not entirely happy with being anything more than cordial with the other man, but being overridden by curiosity anyway.

"What's it to you?" Hooded eyes turned to him, the sunlight glancing off the partially concealed gems under the lids. He was messing with him, Gaara realised.

"Nothing. It's nothing at all to me," the redhead stressed, enunciating the words carefully. He felt a squirm of satisfaction at the barely concealed animosity in the other's face. The angel schooled his expression back into impassiveness and slid a hand through sleek, russet-coloured locks.

"I need clothing," he demanded blandly, "and other living necessities. Like a bed. That horror you call a sofa gave me neck cramp." Irritation flashed in his unwavering gaze, "And I haven't eaten all morning since you pulled that little stunt. I require feeding."

"What would you do if I didn't do all that?" Gaara asked suddenly. He noticed they were nearing the main road. "Would you kill me?"

There was no lavender, no pearl and no diamond in Neji's eyes when he looked at the redhead – they were flat white, blank like a pristine sheet of paper. "Killing you…" he considered it. "Would be ineffective in the long-run. Might as well torture you until you concede."

A shiver ran unbidden through Gaara's body. "Can't you pick someone else?" He asked straightforwardly. Neji turned to look hard at him, but the redhead kept his eyes on the road, on the store fronts, and refused to meet the brunet's eyes, to see if the haunting blankness were still in them. "Someone who would actually want you. Can't you change keeper?"

"Yes," was the simple reply. Startled that he'd gotten a straight answer, the redhead turned to his angelic companion. Reflective ivory eyes were staring down at him, unreadable. "Not that I will."

A scowl fell onto his face. "If you _can_ then why don't you? You'd probably enjoy someone else's company more," he pointed out bluntly.

"I simply don't want to." With his superior height, the brunet advanced on Gaara and loomed over him, steely eyes daring him to object. Cold jade eyes searched in the striking purplish-white ones for any flash of motive, any reasoning.

"You're completely selfish," he deduced slowly.

A lazy blink. "Yes."

Gaara's shoulders dropped a little under the weight that was suddenly pressing on them. "And now you want me to buy you clothes."

"Yes."

A sigh, one of countless many in recent hours, passed his lips. "Fucking hell."

* * *

They had arrived outside the shopping centre, and Gaara could tell from the expressionless face of his lodger that he wasn't impressed. It wasn't hard to tell why. The recession had hit particularly hard here – there were few people entering and the ones already inside were moving with an uncharacteristic sluggishness. Actual shopping bags appeared to be scarce on their persons.

"We're shopping here?" came the disbelieving question.

Gaara pushed through the double doors without acknowledging the remark, letting them swing shut onto the brunet. The first two adjacent store fronts were untitled, with foggy glazed windows and neglected interiors, and the two opposite them were tired looking shoe stores with red sale signs in the windows. The redhead led the way past them, and then bypassed the next couple of pharmacies and convenience stores, leading the way into the circular lobby. The wooden benches were empty, the bins not even half full; betraying the lack of visitors the centre actually got on a daily basis. The lifts were against the wall next to a large map of the building; Gaara didn't need to look because he had a fairly accurate idea of the stores that would be open. The map was littered with red stickers over the squares of the out-of-business stores.

Without indicating to the Hyuuga, the redhead walked to the left set of stairs next to the lifts and advanced to the next level. In front of him were two shops opposite each other – men's fashion – with 'reduced price' notices in their windows. A small smirk crossed his face; at least he would get the clothes for less. One, and only one, good thing about the financial crisis. He led the brunet to the right, into 'Harver's', and was pleased to see that the racks were still haphazardly crammed with clothes. A snort issued from behind him.

Gaara whirled around. "If you want to shop in high class designer shops," he hissed savagely at the unimpressed angel, "Then you can damn well get a keeper in the Hub." Ascertained that he was not going to get any more complaints from the dissatisfied man, he started searching through the racks for clothes that would fit him. Extracting a pair of extra-long black jeans, he held them subconsciously up to the brunet's waist. "They'll fit," he muttered to himself and threw them over the now placid man's arm.

Two pairs of blue jeans followed, one that proclaimed itself as 'Discount Designer', and was haphazardly shredded and semi-sewed back up again. The thighs and calves were faded and there were small bronze buttons down one outer seam. They were half price.

"I am not wearing this," Neji said impartially, causing the perusing redhead to pause and frown at him. Mossy green eyes raked up and down the trousers he had just thrown over the brunet's arm.

"Why not?" he asked blankly.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, but I refuse to be turned into a punk rocker," the pale-eyed man returned smartly. The small, lithe form with the stop-light red hair simply darted down the aisle, picked up a thunder-storm grey pair of thigh-hugging jeans and added them to the pile. "Then I'll wear them." Small lips pursed, daring a retort. The brunet narrowed his opalescent eyes at him, but the redhead didn't bother hanging around to hear the rebuke. He disappeared down the next aisle, indicating for Neji to follow him.

They were in the shirt section. Gaara scanned down the rows with a calculating eye, but he turned to the angel before he dived in. "Do you want t-shirts or button-ups?" He asked, unenthusiastic at having to engage in conversation with the man.

"Both," was the indifferent reply.

Fighting back a snappish comment, he moved to pull three he'd spotted during his initial scan and held them up to the brunet. "Those two," was the thoughtful reply. He draped the red buttoned casual shirt on the man's arm and followed it by a light creamy turtle neck.

"Not this one?" He waved the third shirt slightly at the man.

"I told you, no punk rocker," he replied irritably. The redhead took a look at the top in his hand – it was illustrated with harshly coloured crows and daggers, and in the centre was a pink skull and crossbones. Well, it had been a long shot. Gaara put it back just as a shop assistant appeared at the top of the aisle, a look of palpable relief on his face.

"Can I help you!" he all but screamed and darted toward the pair, his shoulder length blonde hair flapping over his face. He made a beeline for Hyuuga and wrested the bundle from him. The redhead saw him give the tall man an appreciative once-over before he turned to the smaller man. "Is there anything you're looking for in particular, yeah!"

The redhead skewered him with his kohl-lined eyes. "No."

The blonde looked crestfallen. The overhead lights gleamed off his yellow name-tag, the black letters reading 'Deidara'. Turning toward the impassive man behind him, he cast him a hopeful glance. "Is there anything I can help you with, sir?" He chirruped in a polite voice. He reminded Gaara of an excitable little canary. The brunet allowed him a slight curving of his lips – the poor man nearly keeled in delight.

"Could you help us find some shirts to go with these..?" He fingered lightly through the trousers Gaara had already picked out. The lips quirked again, and the same satiny voice rippled out. "It would be a tremendous help."

"Sure…" The blonde acquiesced breathily, tearing himself dramatically away from the brunet and stuffing the bundle of clothes without a second glance into Gaara's arms. He crossed the shop and dived into the flap behind the counter, which assumedly was the store cupboard. The redhead turned back to the angel, and the divinely beatific mask which had just lit the glowing features fell away. The brunet smirked. "What?"

The redhead thrust the clothes back at the taller man with a scowl. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, yanking roughly through the clothes to spot the ugliest piece he could find. His eyes alit upon a black top of a clingy-looing soft material. Thin, thread-like chains wove over the shoulders like chainmail before they draped loosely over the back. The front dipped in a large semi-circle, more so than the other neck-tight ones he'd picked out. The sleeves were short cuffs. Gaara pulled it out thoughtfully.

As he surveyed it with an unreadable look on his face, long fingers plucked it out of his hands. The silvery eyes appraised it. "My, that's almost…" The brunet flipped a long, rich brown strand over his shoulder. "Kinky." He switched his gaze to the darkening face of the redhead, a sinful smile on his lips.

"Put it back, I was only curious," the smaller man said exasperatedly.

Smug smile widening, the Hyuuga added it to the pile just as the blonde dived back into their aisle. In his arms he carried an enormous pile of shirts. He dropped them on the floor, starting to rifle through them. "I found loads, yeah!" He looked up, and his eyes instantly fell upon the slinky new addition to the pair's pile. "That's – are you guys, you know, toge-"

"No." Gaara enunciated slowly in an empty tone.

"Okay!" was the bubbly response, and the shop assistant busily began pulling out shirts. They picked another two – a soft pure white business-style shirt and - Neji's choice, which he extracted with a guileful smile on his lips - a midnight purple t-shirt with a white wing decal on the back. Sighing, the redhead added it to the steadily increasing pile.

"Jumpers?" Neji asked, with a small smile directed at the blonde, who nearly threw up in joy. Moving like a rogue blonde tornado in need of a haircut, a plain black zip up and a creamy white pullover with large pockets in the front was added to the pile.

"Would you like a-"

"No." The brunet and the blonde turned to look at the third man. His face was murderous, his eyes narrow aquamarine slits which, surrounded by their midnight shadows, looked positively catlike. "No. We've got enough." He cast a vengeful glare at the Hyuuga.

The taller man turned to look at the shop-keeper and offered him an apologetic shrug. "You heard the man." He dropped the blonde a conspiratorial wink, and a delicate rose-petal blush formed across the other man's cheekbones. Amid unintelligible stammers, the stack of clothes was swept up and borne to the check-out desk.

The eleven items came to £70. Gaara winced as he handed his card over – there was seventy quid he wouldn't be seeing again. He walked away from the counter as soon as he was returned his credit card, leaving the angel to carry the bags as he was waved off by the shop assistant. He found himself half expecting a thank you when they exited the shop and the brunet caught up to him.

"I still need shoes." Gaara scowled. Or not.

They emerged from the shopping centre another twenty minutes later with a pair of shiny black faux-leather shoes and brown suede plimsolls added to their purchases. The redhead was only placated by the fact that they were 70% off the original price, because he could almost feel his card becoming weightless as the money was leeched out of it. The ungrateful prick next to him tossed his head to knock the hair out of his face – he couldn't use his hands because his so called 'keeper' vehemently refused to help him carry the bags. It gave the redhead a savage pleasure to see the brunet so encumbered. The man noticed his scrutiny and speared him with his spectral-pale gaze. "And I'm _still_ starv-"

"There is food," Gaara snarled lividly, "At the house." His face left no room for discussion, and the brunet said nothing in response; instead driving his ice-white irises into the redhead's for a long second before walking in the direction of their apparently shared abode. "Prick," Gaara said incredulously under his breath as he followed, making sure to saunter to show off his lack of baggage.

Arriving back at the house was a sordid affair, as Gaara was still fuming that the prick was still here in the first place. Never mind that a spike of fear ran through him at the thought of the man, having witnessed his powers and his… extra body parts.

"Hey, _little one_," the brunet growled sarcastically after they had been standing silently outside the door for a couple of minutes, "Open. The damn. Door."

Something inside Gaara coiled nastily. He realised he'd never outright _let_ the angel into his house before; the one time he'd entered he'd literally forced his way in without any kind of permission. This time would be the first that Gaara would have allowed the brunet to walk through his doorway – opened the door for him to do so. His gut twisted uncomfortably at the notion.

He stirred as the muffled thumps of soft-filled bags hit the floor, and then Hyuuga was snatching the keys from his limp fingers and opening the door himself. Annoyance was tinged healthily with relief as Gaara barked not to barge in uninvited, while the man ignored him, slinging the numerous bags in and walking past without even looking at the protesting redhead.

Gaara shut the door behind him quietly, questioning the relief that had blossomed when the chance to allow the man in had been snatched from him. Inviting him in was too much like bending for him, he realised, too much like giving in. He didn't want to give in to this sarcastic, arrogant bastard of a stranger – that much was starkly clear.

Most of the shopping bags had gone through with the brunet, but Gaara noticed one that must have slipped from the man's fingers. He sneered as he snagged it off the ground. Clearly the guy wasn't perfect after all. He threw it onto the pile next to the door of his huge open plan room when he entered.

"So… lunch then-" He looked up and stiffened, statue-like, where he stood. Neji stood a few steps more into the room, his back to the redhead, peeling the too-tight top over his head. The muscles rippled under the alabaster skin as the white tee came over his head – the intensely dark silken locks tumbling over his shoulders as his head came free, falling in a chocolaty mass over his back. The longest point came to the middle of his spine.

The white cotton was dropped carelessly to the floor as the brunet turned, noticing his audience. In a flash, Gaara managed to compose himself, but the gleam in the pearl eyes indicated that Neji had seen the redhead's stupor.

"It's rude to strip in public places," the smaller man reprimanded tightly, allowing outrage to colour his tones. He crossed to the kitchen and busily set about pulling out bread and butter and transferring it to the island unit. He slammed the cheese on the surface and distractedly reached for the knife next to him. Instead of the cool handle he was expecting, his hand closed around something warm and fleshy, and he looked up to see what he'd grabbed.

His fist was closed around the back of Neji's hand, which held the knife he'd been aiming for. The redhead looked up, perplexed, to see the glint that was set back in his eyes.

"Who knew taking my top off would produce such an effect," the brunet said in a suggestive, husky tone. Gaara flinched away from the hand like it was burning hot.

"It's not producing any effect," he said flatly, "Put a shirt on." He slid the cheese out of its wrapper and held his hand out for the knife Neji held. He refused to meet the man's gaze.

The brunet dropped the sharp utensil in the outstretched palm, scraping his fingers against the flesh as his own fist opened. "I need to stretch my wings."

Gaara slid the knife through the cheese several times, ignoring the shirtless angel. He created a small stack of thin, pale yellow rectangles and moved onto the loaf of bread, concentrating as he cut four slices.

"Want to see?"

"See what?" He snarled, startled. He glared at the fourth slice: it was shredded.

"You seem… nervous." Damn him, the man was purposefully making his voice silky and luxurious. "Maybe I should make _you_ lunch." The brunet curled his tongue around the vowels of the 'you'.

Gaara slammed the knife down. "Maybe you fucking should," he hissed savagely. He met the piercing eyes of his not-quite guest. "I seem nervous?" The torrent he'd been keeping bottled up in the hours since the brunet had appeared in his life came gushing out. "I have a fucking winged thing who won't goddamn leave me alone, who is making me pay for crap I can't afford, who is stripping half naked in my own home – which, may I just add, he isn't paying for being in, and is making me do everything, all while being a fucking arrogant bastard about it." The redhead shut his mouth with a snap and began cutting another slice of bread to make up for the one he'd massacred.

The brunet said nothing, although in front of his vision, Gaara could still see the glistening cream plains of the naked chest. It disappeared as he began to butter the bread, and the slight pat of footsteps faded across the room. _He's leaving!_ No – the footsteps were coming back. The exhilaration died down again. He trained his eyes on what he was doing, ignoring the angel.

SLAM.

Gaara shot out of his skin, newfound terror surging through him as he looked up. The brunet was bent over the island counter, staring intently into… a copy of the Yellow Pages. The hackles that had risen along the redhead's shoulders relaxed as he stared at the man, baffled by his strange behaviour.

"What are you doing?" he asked tentatively.

The Hyuuga didn't look up as he flipped a page with an absorbed hum in his throat, looking completely engrossed in the directory's content. "Finding you an anger management class," he replied distractedly.

The confusion morphed into consternation… and then into irritation. Gaara flung the piece of mauled bread at him.

It bounced off the strong jawline – later the redhead would realise that the man could have easily deflected it – and the man rose to his full six feet, brushing crumbs out of his long hair. The smaller man glared at him until a thoughtful expression crossed the finely angled face.

"I know something that might cheer you up." The smug sneer was back, a return to normality – although what was normality when he hadn't even known the man for a whole 48 hours anyway – and he advanced on the redhead. Gaara backed up as the angel stalked around the island, eyes flashing in a beast-like way.

"I don't need cheering up," he said coldly, hoping it would deter the brunet from whatever he was going to do.

A satiny chuckle that made the flawless outer walls of the long neck vibrate gently. "You liked it yesterday."

"Yesterday was the worst day in my twenty-three years of living," argued Gaara, almost frantically now. His back bumped into the wall, and he was hard-pushed to bite back the yelp that almost formed. Before he could twist out of the way and dart somewhere else in the huge room, a pool of heat appeared that just barely preceded its source; the Hyuuga's naked expanse of chest. The smaller man was trapped.

"You liked watching this yesterday," came the huskily shimmering voice – so close now that Gaara could feel the vibrato of it in the air. He remembered now – the thwarted 999 call, how he'd been pinned, feet off the ground, in the corner of his bedroom, watching the light form from that unmarked back.

This time it was different; Neji bent instead of lifting him, until the redhead's face was no longer inches from unblemished, silky-skinned chest as the striking features once again buried themselves into his neck. Gaara had an unbroken view of the flawless expanse of the muscled back. The brunet's scent pervaded the air – a natural, musky aroma suffused with a warm streak of cinnamon and something else – a rich, low, clean smell like bright, nocturnal flowers.

"Fuck off now?" The redhead said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

Lips brushing faintly on the curve where his neck and shoulder joined. "You'll enjoy it."

"I won't en-"

His words tailed abruptly off as intricate swirls began to appear on the cream skin – pure, glowing white lines that twisted in elegant patterns like liquid light in the purest marble. Ivy leaves and flowers with slender petals seemed to grow and ebb in the artistic masterpiece that was forming in a large V on the brunet's back, starting at the top of the shoulder blades and ending just below them. Gaara's brain was whirring – trying to remember if this was what it had looked like yesterday. All he could remember from then was light.

It was as if it were the key word the design had been waiting for – like a bud cracking open its leaves, the pattern swelled and exploded a gleaming beam of light into the wincing jade eyes. Like purest sunlight, it lit every item in the room in an untainted, majestic colour before it focused into a smaller space. Forcing his eyes to keep from shutting under the intense brightness, the redhead could see - something - slithering out of the tattoo; a translucent lavender gauze, like an ethereal veil, which thickened and solidified as the light seemed to absorb into it. Feathers formed, sensuously tapered and satiny soft, as the light slowly dimmed to a comforting purple-hued glow that emanated like an alternate light source from the pearlescent wings. Up close, Gaara could see that they weren't transparent as he'd first thought, but a lush variety of duck-egg blue and pale cream and lavender. The milky watercolour hues blended together to create a soft, light-refracting combination – the effect was a gorgeous gossamer-soft curtain of down that blurred the edges of the day into the feathers – or the other way around.

Gaara released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and composed himself quickly. "You're _still_ manhandling me," he said pointedly. The man, with his two extra limbs, stepped away, and as the redhead slid past him he saw the smug smile on the perfectly formed lips. Arse, he thought to himself. A dark chuckle bloomed behind him, as if the brunet could hear his thoughts, and the smaller man repressed a growl.

"I'm going to change." In the corner of his vision he could see the angel – his wings glistening with a gentle inner light – grabbing a couple of the bags. Arranging a neutral expression across his features, Gaara turned to sharply say –

He was speechless again, as the diamond purple wings flared wide in the malleable air, and with a quick sharp beat, lifted the brunet off the floor. The air scudded against the redhead's body, lifting the short crimson locks off his forehead for a brief moment – another beat as the angel rose in the almost warehouse-like main room and angled for the slim inner balcony. A graceful landing later, the angel studiously pretending that he hadn't noticed the riveted emerald eyes, and the man was stepping lightly off the waist-high railing and disappearing into…

His bedroom. Gaara's eyes widened as his body, seemingly of its own accord, dived to the spiralling stairs. He was shouting as he scaled them at a run; "Hey fucker, get out of my room!" The door was unlocked, mercifully, as he arrived at the balcony, and he threw himself inside. Daylight streamed through the windows, but the angel wasn't present.

"Neji?" he called suspiciously.

"Are you really that eager to see me naked?" came the wry tone from the direction of the closed bathroom door.

Anger filled the redhead, anger that his haven – his favourite room – had been voyaged into _again_ by the smarmy intruder. "Don't just go barging into other people's bedrooms, you prick!" he yelled in the direction of the door. He received an indifferent grunt in reply, and stomped off to straighten the small carved wooden statues on his low mahogany-and-glass coffee table. It crouched on a round rug in fiery shades of orange and red. He hadn't made the table himself, but he had fitted a different coloured spotlight on each leg, pointing upwards, that lit the ornaments atop the transparent surface in unreal tinted colours. He clicked the little switch that hid under the wooden edge, and soft green, yellow, purple and orange pools of light glowed into existence. That done, he threw himself grumpily into the crimson bubble chair – which hung from a thick coil of chain from the ceiling – to wait until he could usher his 'lodger' out.

A hum ran through the piping in the wall, and the distinctive sound of the shower being turned on seeped in from the adjacent room. The scowl forming across the redhead's brow intensified. The presumptuous shit. He hoped he drowned.

It was a whole half an hour later, after the water had abided and the scuffling sounds of dressing had quieted, when the elusive lodger made his grand exit.

Gaara was daydreaming absently in the hanging chair, swinging himself from side to side with his foot, when the door clicked open. Alert, he sat upright and affixed his scowl. The man entered the room slowly, the last vestiges of the shower emerging in small wisps of steam that floated out in quickly dissipating tendrils around his body. The coloured spotlights the redhead had turned on earlier eagerly illuminated this new marble masterpiece. The irked frown remained only through sheer force of will.

The storm-cloud grey jeans – was it only an hour earlier that he'd bought them? – hugged the muscled calves and thighs all the way down to the ankles peeking out cheekily from the denim. The long-sleeved red button-up, a rich auburn like autumn leaves, fit perfectly; clinging faintly to the defined muscles of the biceps and the powerful torso, before falling more loosely over the hard stomach. The colourful iridescence of the light washed the fabrics in an unworldly tinge – and smoothed the alabaster skin in an almost unnatural clearness. The purple fell upon the jawline, hardening it, and the orange and yellow gave a sun-washed brilliance to the flawless skin. The hair was swept over one shoulder, the deep, warm brown darkened into a gleaming volcanic cocoa-black from the water, and the miniscule droplets caught the luminosity and flung it around in small sparkling rainbows. The magnificent wings had apparently been retracted – the redhead couldn't begin to imagine the effect they'd have added to the overall image.

Well aware of how he looked, but feigning oblivion, the angel sauntered into the room, patting his sleek hair with a towel. Glistening diamond eyes, absorbing every inch of the colour and brightness in the room and multiplying it tenfold, shone with glorious undertones of lavender and white-gold. They seemed, much like the wings gracing the same body, to momentarily emit their own radiance. The coralline lips parted gently. "Your shower went cold on me," the brunet said carelessly, "I suggest you fix it."

The image was partly broken. It was still the same prick inside the shiny exterior after all.

"Bastard," Gaara countered, eyes hardening, "If you'd asked beforehand, I might have warned you that it has a tendency to do that."

"You'd have told me to fuck off and grow mould for all the shits you'd give," the brunet replied with a sneer. The redhead had to privately agree – it did seem like something he'd say.

He followed the man out of his bedroom and down the stairs – the angel managing to traverse them now his wings were retracted – and watched him self-assuredly stride over to the kitchen. Feeling like some kicked puppy, Gaara trailed behind him.

Neji picked up where he'd left off, haphazardly throwing the sliced cheese on one of the buttered pieces of bread before rooting around in the small fridge behind him and pulling out the packet of ham. The man straightened, and as he did so, one dark, wood-brown eyebrow lifted at the redhead, who stood a little way away from the counter. It was with a surge of self-loathing that Gaara realised he was _dithering. _Snapping himself into action, he ignored the small pretentious smile curving the slender lips and set about making his own sandwich crossly. The next few minutes were spent in silence as the redhead glowered at the nearly tangible vibes of self-satisfaction roiling from the taller man.

It was only when they sat down on opposite sides of the island that the quiet was broken.

"I'm curious…" The redhead looked up to see an angled chin resting cockily on its owner's palm. The opal eyes drilled into his. "About that tattoo of yours."

Quelling the snort of derision that the living embodiment of arrogance was actually expecting answers from him, Gaara said nothing. He took a bite of his sandwich – finding it less satisfying than it should have been after the angel had taken half of the cheese that he'd cut for _himself, _and wished he'd picked up a newspaper to occupy himself with_._

The next words came out almost as a croon, a tantalising tease. "I'll tell you what I remembered, if you like…"

He had him. The redhead chewed deliberately slowly, swallowing and placing his bread on the plate, carefully in the centre of the blue rim. He looked up into the luminescent eyes of his lodger. "There's not much to tell," he said bluntly.

A small bending of the pale pink lips. "But there's obviously something..?"

God, he was so annoying. "It was an act of teenage rebellion," he supplied in a blank tone, shrugging slightly.

"I'm especially intrigued by the universal subject."

"You can read it?" The smaller man asked sharply. Purple-white eyes raked over the symbol on his forehead, tracing the edges of the crimson lines with a focused intensity.

"I understand it," was the ambiguous reply.

"_You_ understand a foreign language," Gaara pressed shrewdly.

"It's not a foreign emotion," the brunet replied testily.

Yeah right. As if this guy had gotten a woman to put up with his stinking attitude and unfortunate prick-ism. "Bet you loved her and she left you," he guessed crisply, amusement filling the words. The distinct hardening of the polished ivory gaze seemed to clarify his guess.

"No." the brunet retorted shortly, his maple voice tinged with annoyance.

"_You_ left _her_?" The redhead smirked, elated with the reactions he was eliciting from the normally cool Hyuuga. "You cruel bastard."

"I've never loved anyone," the brunet retaliated harshly, flicking his head back and causing a miniature wave to surge through his long hair. The light glanced off the princely features as his expression melted into one of pure condescension, "But I'm assuming you felt it so hard you had to go and write it on your skin."

Dull jade eyes shuttered uncaringly at the other man's sneer. "I didn't know what love was." Cupids-bow lips thinned, parted. A glint of teeth peeked through the gap. "_That's_ why I got the tattoo. So people would see it on me and tell me what it was."

The dead eyes stared balefully at the glaring Hyuuga. Slowly, the brunet's mouth spread into a calculating smile, which ignited a small, bright glow far back in the reflective irises. A scheming look came about the flawless face. "Well, when you love someone," the angel explained silkily, "You do this."

And with that, the man stood, reached over the island for the neck of the redhead's shirt – dragging him upright to meet him in the middle of the counter – and crashed his lips onto his.

Shock, that was what registered first. And then, when the numb tingles from that faded, the rough plushness of the lips against his own, the slight throb of the impact working its way through his jaw. Teeth nipped at his lower lip, and his senses abruptly returned.

"Get…OFF!" He protested, the words a little muffled around the unprecedented liplock, slamming his hands into the iron chest of his assailant. It barely moved him, but it caused enough of a jolt to free his mouth. Gaara wriggled, and the fingers loosened their hold on his top. As soon as he was free, he backed a few steps across the kitchen. The angel sat back down and took another casual bite of his sandwich as if they'd literally just been discussing the weather.

Gaara slid a hand over his mouth. He could taste cinnamon. "You fucker," he snarled viciously, "Do you know _no_ boundaries?"

The Hyuuga blinked at him innocently. "You said you wanted people to tell you what love was. I was just helping." He returned to his food.

The redhead returned to his seat cautiously, muttering fragmented phrases that sounded along the lines of 'should rip your face off', and 'complete fucker'. The legs of the chair scraped on the honey floorboards as he edged backwards.

The brunet looked up, and the pseudo-innocence fell away to be replaced by the customary supercilious smirk. "Nervous?" The predatory smile widened.

"Just what the fuck did you remember?" Gaara snapped – his foul mood worsening.

It was with no small measure of relief that he watched the other man's eyes cloud over in self-reflection. The slim fingers ripped a fingernail's width out of the bread and pressed it into a compact ball. Apparently distracted, the angel raised it to his lips and slid it in. One excruciatingly slow chew followed another, and like a switch had been flicked, the eyes were back to normal. "Oh, nothing much," came the breezy reply.

The emerald eyes darkened to black. "Get out of my house," he said coldly.

Neji almost looked surprised at the demand. "You don't get laid often, do you?" His alabaster cheeks lifted over the mockingly serene smile as the redhead glared with utter hatred at him. A flash of raven-black hair flashed suddenly through the angel's mind, onyx eyes blinked once before they disappeared into a grey haze. His brows furrowed as he tried to concentrate. It was the one memory that encompassed all the others – the undeniable sensation of falling. A large blue hole above him, vanishing as wisps of cloud-like greyness consumed him. A biting voice echoed through his memory, the flashing black eyes.

Gaara watched the glazed expression irritably. "Hey," he said roughly, watching the brunet emerge from wherever he'd gone. "Are you done?" he asked crossly when he was sure he had the other's attention again.

"Sasuke…" came the slow response.

He was a complete headcase, the Sabaku decided incredulously. "I'm Gaara," he said dryly, "But I don't expect you to remember that."

"Shut up Gaara," the angel said to the affronted redhead, "I mean Sasuke. That's who I remembered. And… Itachi, I think."

"Right," the redhead said mockingly, "Well when you remember something… oh, you know, _interesting_, do come and find me." He picked up his plate and turned to load it in the dishwasher, but apparently the brunet wasn't finished.

"The love, that's what reminded me again." A wince crossed Gaara's features as he placed the dish on the rack, feeling the lips pressing harshly against his all over again. "Sasuke loved someone… but… I can't remember…"

The smaller man plopped himself wearily back down on the stool, sensing that this would be a long one. "Who is this… Sasuke?"

"A good friend," the brunet replied immediately, and then looked puzzled at what had come out of his mouth. It was, the redhead decided, a better display of expression than his usual shades of egotism.

"And Itachi?" he pressed tiredly.

"His brother." Another prompt response, and again Neji looked surprised he had even said it.

"And Sasuke loves..?" Gaara prompted, feeling like an unpaid counsellor. The brunet shook his head, indicating that his memories stopped there.

"I can remember… flashes." A small frown creased the smooth, marble forehead. "But nothing substantial. Bright gold wings." The green-eyed man perked up at that titbit, almost leaning forwards despite himself. The lines deepened as the man seemed to suffer an internal battle. They evened as he relaxed. "No, there's too much fog. I can't remember."

Gaara sank back, feeling a little disappointed. "What was he like," he asked, blanching at his conscious continuing of the conversation, but feeling curious despite his snide words earlier.

"Short… blue-black hair." The Hyuuga's thoughtful expression looked almost excruciating. "Bit… duckbutt-ish…"

Gaara snorted before he could stop himself, and covered his mouth with his hand in shock. Oh dear god, had the brunet poisoned him when he kissed him? Fuck, the angel actually kissed him didn't he? Fuck.

He looked up to see the pale eyes narrowed at him. "Why are you laughing?" he asked accusingly.

The redhead waved a hand for him to carry on. "I'm not, I swear."

Still looking suspicious, the brunet returned to his pained expression. "Black eyes and a sarcastic, kind of nasal voice. A bit of a bastard…" Gaara's eyebrows quirked up at this, but he pushed down the biting remark that emerged. "He was a bit vain as well. And Itachi," he continued before the smaller man could prod on that topic, "Was – is – a coldly intelligent superior arsehole." Neji finished with a rounding-up nod of the head.

"Sounds familiar," Gaara muttered darkly, and the smirk flashed back as if it had never left; the arrogance seeping from the invisible pores as a dangerous chuckle slid from the elegant throat.

Face stony, the redhead leaned over and yanked the plate out from the last chewed corner of the angel's sandwich, depositing it on the table, and put it in the dishwasher. He studiously ignored the prick as he curled his tongue around the bread before he ate it.

"I have another question," the man's silky voice addressed him as he made to walk past him, "What's that door over there?"

Aquamarine eyes followed the pointing finger to the white-washed door next to the spiral staircase under the balcony. It hadn't been opened since the brunet had arrived at his home. "That's nothing," he said dully, sufficiently ending the conversation, and walked into the living room area.

XXX

It was as Gaara, in bed after what felt like the longest day yet, looked back over the day's occurrences that his mind returned to his angered outburst when he'd been cutting the bread. His memory offered the brunet's perplexing, yet astoundingly irritating actions – the yellow pages and the trapping him against the wall to force him to watch his wings coming out – and a thought suddenly occurred to the redhead. Had the angel been… trying to placate him? He hadn't apologised, but had he been trying to make amends..?

Green eyes blinked, before Gaara shook himself. No. He'd had to fight tooth and nail to stop his self-labelled 'lodger' from following him upstairs and crawling into bed with him because he didn't like the sofa. The prick had no sense of boundary, no morals, and no remorse. Feeling both better and more ill at ease, the redhead settled into the downy mattress and willed that the man be gone tomorrow, one way or the other.

* * *

**Notes:** Gaara's house is VERY weird, just to clarify. It's hard to completely describe without going… 'and then there's the window, and then next to the window there's'… etc. So just quickly – the interior is oddly structured. The hallway that the door opens onto is narrow and quite dark – and there are TWO doors (second hasn't been mentioned yet, I don't think), which BOTH lead into the same room – the kitchen/living room. This room is HUGE, I'm not kidding, it is positively massive. There is no dividing archway in between at all; instead there's just a gap of floorboards between the two sections, and then there's a fuckload of chairs on a brightly coloured rug. The book cases/shelves go up to the ceiling – it's literally a wall of shelves. The room is also tall, VERY tall – it is, in essence, a bit like a pimped-out warehouse with central heating – which is why there's room for a spiral staircase against the wall which leads to the balcony which I keep mentioning. The balcony is slim; if Gaara lay down on it, it would probably be the length of him, and he wouldn't be able to stretch his arms out. This leads to his bedroom, which hovers over ANOTHER room which hasn't been mentioned yet. And this is why Neji is able to somewhat take off, because of the height and size of the room. Okay, SORRY FOR THE SPIEL! (I just want everyone to understand how a six foot angel can fly in someone's house :3)


	3. Nothing But Lies And Crooked Wings

**Notes**: PHEW. It's done. God this felt like a long time in coming! My inspiration fell flat about three quarters of the way through this. Nor did I reach my target of 13 Word doc pages, but I felt another two pages of forced drivel was a bad idea. So here it is. I am now feeling _reaaaally _good about this, and I honestly cannot wait to get started on the next chapter! ^_^

Quickly, to the anonymous reviewer, Jayme. … Yup, I am a description-whore, unfortunately that's not changing! :) I am trying to iron out the surname-forename thing as I changed my mind halfway through - if you could point out where the surname comes first, then that would be super helpful. Thanks to everyone for reviewing, faving and alerting, I wub you all :3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. They have cool names. We English don't have cool names. Not ones like 'Gaara' and 'Neji' anyway ... Yes. Pity us. T_T

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**Nothing But Lies And Crooked Wings

The shrill piping scream of the alarm clock sounded its universally hated bugle call. A lone hand emerged from its muggy cocoon of silk and pummelled it. Silence reigned for a blissful three minutes, before it started up again. Three hard slams later and the creature was put out of its misery; tumbling to the floor like a pheasant shot from the sky. Within its nest, the larger being – the predator – shifted. Sheer black fabric twisted and moved as the creature rose from the hips up – the bulbous protrusion turned, and horrifying, merciless green eyes blinked once. The distinct dark marking around the eyes labelled it as a male specimen – a brutal, cruel and unwilling early riser. The jade eyes – like a freezing forest caught in the throes of a harsh and endless ice age – blinked once more, and a deep throaty groan emerged from the long neck.

It was Monday.

The sinful warmth of the covers tried to entice him to slide back inside and bury his face into the plushness of the pillow, but it was with a badly-disguised curse that Gaara slid his body reluctantly from the bed; landing on the thick carpet on his stomach. His legs slithered out after him, and the toes popped out last, curling in the cool chill in the air as the redhead issued an aggrieved mumble. He lay splayed in the carpet for a brief second, still clad only in his boxers, until the thought of a certain uninvited houseguest swinging open the door had him swiftly moving to the bathroom. His morning routine was sluggish and reluctant as he powered through it. It was with slightly damp hair, the spiky locks at the nape of his neck curling lightly from the water, that he crossed the room to his wardrobe and pulled open the bottom drawer. Pulling out the neatly folded synthetic-green t-shirt, he ran his fingers over the embroidered 'CC' on the chest before he pulled it on. He was unsure how long he would be doing this in the morning – pulling on his uniform as he told himself that any day now he would be checking in a promotion and a pay rise. The redhead moved to the deodorant standing on his plain vanity and sneered to himself in the mirror. Yeah right, like that was ever going to happen.

"So you're one of those sorts then?"

Gaara lurched out of his skin, spinning to see the angel resting nonchalantly against the open doorframe. The smirk was already in place and it was only – the redhead glanced at the alarm clock dolefully lying on the floor – 6 o'clock.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"You know, you pull faces to yourself in the mirror." The brunet allowed a touch of faked concern to slide into his voice. The smaller man just glared at him and turned away, angrily yanking out a pair of plain black socks and pulling them on.

"Where are you headed?" The soft voice was so close the honeyed words emerged in a warm breeze around the shell of Gaara's ear. He jerked away, cussing indistinct expletives as he realised the proximity of the other man. A chuckle slid like intangible satin down the collar of his shirt.

"Stop fucking doing that," he snapped harshly, turning the collar up to settle the hairs that had raised there. The Hyuuga lifted a hand and pulled it through his long hair like it was a Zen art form and not an act of vanity.

"Doing wha-"

The words were cut short as the redhead strode past him without a second glance.

Gaara had just reached the door when a long arm reached and slammed it shut from behind him – the wood only just whistling past his noise – and, turning in surprise, he was pressed against it in an uncomfortably familiar position. The solid chest formed an impassable barrier in front of him, the outstretched arms blocking his left and right. The straight nose dipped and traced his jawline from his ear to his chin.

"Your sofa is uncomfortable." The words shimmered in the air like misted glass.

Confusion again filled the captive man – was the Hyuuga ever going to be predictable? "So what?" he said bluntly, "I can't do anything about it."

The Hyuuga's face pulled away, and the redhead chanced a glance into the unfathomable pools of white into his face and saw an icy sheen of glass filming them. They glinted like chips of hard flint at him. Gaara could read the statement in them without the brunet having to open his mouth. Choosing not to address it, he stood his ground despite the good six inches that the man towered above him, his head cocked like an inquisitive bird of prey.

"I need to go to work," he told him stolidly, running his hands over the panels of the door until they brushed against something warm and malleable. The smaller man tried to prise his way under the other man's palm where it was clasping the handle. Like it was glued to the metal, his nails barely poked under the ridged bone of the Hyuuga's hand. Irked, he half-turned, giving Neji the shoulder, and wrapped both hands around the marble wrist, trying vainly to open the door with a slowly darkening scowl. Finally, with a long hiss like a punctured tire, he snapped without turning to look at his captor, "Let me out already!" Any ideas of breakfast dissipated in an unsatisfying smoke, "I will be _late_, dammit."

Instead of lessening, the expanse of muscular flesh increased rapidly; flattening his smaller frame against the door. His ribs struggled to expand against the rigid wood. The man's entire frame was touching his – warmth on his back a contrast with the coolness of the door smashed against his face. The brunet's knees bent and pinioned his own to the barrier in front of him, the large, long-fingered hands easily enclosing his wrists and holding them there. The faint tickle of cinnamon and spring-flavoured breath fluttered on the crown of his head.

"Let me go to work," Gaara said in a low, dull voice.

"No."

Something inside him, something that had been under a lot of conflicting pressure for the last couple of days, finally gave a violent shudder. From the crack that had formed in this newfound chord, something acrid and hot came bubbling. "Let me go," he spat, in a voice like dripping acid.

The voice, unnaturally flawless and silky; humming on the nasal consonants and ringing on the vowels, drifted into his ear with a faint strain of peaches following into his nose. "You won't come back, Gaara."

White flashed into his vision, and as if his body was acting of its own accord, his hips bucked, loosening the hold on that part of his body. His wrists writhed as he thrashed in a cold determination. Before long, the angel had backed off slightly, allowing just enough room for Gaara to throw off his inhumanly strong hold and throw open the door. It banged loudly off something, and the redhead viciously hoped it was the bastard he was stalking away from.

Down the stairs and winding with a mad gleam in his eyes through the chairs, he strode determinedly to the door off the kitchen. It was in Gaara's huge main room, under the glistening glass pebbles of the cheap chandeliers, with the entrance to the narrow hall directly in his line of sight, that Gaara heard a click.

His brain struggled with the sound, turned it over and over as many times as it could in the split second it had before the redhead turned around. Jade eyes widened, paled – the cream skin suddenly bleached all colour but an unhealthy ash grey. Hyuuga was down, standing in front of the door under the stairs with a sly smile bowing his lips. He stared at the hand that clasped the door handle. It pointed downwards. A step forward, and another; harsh, scraping little footsteps as if Gaara had forgotten how to walk properly. The white-washed panels of the door swung in with a silent whisper of air, the darkness of the interior engulfing the wood. A twisted smile, a cruel reminder, graced the angel's lips.

Neji walked inside.

Five pounding footsteps was all it took – he reached the doorway with a faint desperate breath spilling from his lips, just as the overhead light, a bare bulb, flicked on.

"Well, what have we here?"

An enormous workshop was illuminated under the unavoidable light; a huge room of cool grey stone floor – at intervals covered by thin rugs in bright colours – and white-washed walls and ceiling. Two massive windows, their sills at hip height and half shaded by gauzy yellow curtains, flooded the end corner with thin cracks of watery morning light. The thick windowsills were covered with chipped mugs with the handles broken off that were filled with sharp utensils. In the middle of the right window a spindly glass held a single thin-stemmed red tulip.

In the middle of the room was a long workbench, twice the length of Gaara. It was littered with small pieces of wood and fine piles of sawdust. A swivel work-stool was tucked under the high table at one end. A little way away, pushed against the wall, a collection of tables and chairs in various states of finish all touched in some way. At the fore was a smooth slab of varnished oak; the slightly indented seat carved with a lip for the small of the back. It stood on one single trunk of wood, in which intricate Celtic knot designs were painstakingly carved.

An intrigued hum resonated from the marblesque throat. Eyes like pools of captured moonlight darted inquisitively around the room, but the cynical smile still slanted the elegant lips.

"Get out," Gaara ordered hoarsely, feeling his lips quivering as he tried to fill his lungs with air. His own eyes flashed around the room with far more urgency than those of the brunet. The man turned to stare at him.

"No," he said slowly, thoughtfully. Gliding along the floor as if he were floating on the air, the angel neared him. His expression was cold and detached. The redhead stared with a dull hollow sound ringing around his stomach as the man appraised him, aloof. Nausea threatened to rise. His sanctuary violated, again.

"Oo, what's this?"

Gaara made a frantic grab for his wrist, but his fingers skimmed over it with a scrape and the sound of tearing skin as the brunet reached the other arm for a misshapen object covered by a coral red sheet. With a lightning-fast whip, the brilliant fabric was floating in the air above them. Gaara stared, mutedly horrified, as his latest masterpiece was bared to the intruder's eyes. The light cotton drifted down, folding on his head and obscuring his body completely. Jade orbs downcast, he watched the red sheet settle on the floor around his feet until his vision was surrounded by the scarlet. No light save that leeching through the woven fabric pervaded his self-imposed prison. Outside the barrier, he could neither hear nor see any movement; the angel moved too silently. A long minute passed before the sheet was whipped off his body, stinging his cheeks as the ends flicked past him, and the room reappeared in a blur. Gaara stared at his lodger. Some bright inner light glinted in the pale eyes.

"I like it," he purred.

Rotating his head jerkily, as if his neck had a crick in it, the redhead stared at the uncovered creation.

It was a throne.

It was, much like the rest of Gaara's home, a mess of seemingly mismatched creation. Different types of wood bowed over each other, intertwining in replica branches or else twirling in lavish knots and carved and polished ripples like cascading fabric. Yet, despite the wrongness of the combination of the materials, it was beautiful. The seat – carved, sanded and smoothed, polished until gleaming – was solid maple, glowing with soft auburn-tinged gold. The arms were likewise carved in perfect, sleek semi-circles, but the more orangey tone of beech, which fell in a straight and glossy waterfall to join the twisting spirals of varnished poplar legs. Their faintly green tinge winked innocently in the gentle light. The back, instead of solid wood, dissolved into thin, twisting corkscrews, each threaded so tightly together that it began to take on the appearance of chainmail. Every unnaturally twisted tendril of wood had been painstakingly heated, steamed, clamped and shaped by the redhead, who had worked deep into the hours of the night until his fingers bled and his eyes blurred. But the effect was glorious. Impossible. The thinnest wood seemed to turn into whorls of smoke, fragile and transient and impossible.

But the defining feature of the magnificent wooden throne was not the intricacy in the design, nor the smoothness of the wood – it was the protrusions cutting out on either side. Delicately carved from thick hunks of finest red-rich mahogany until it was whittled down to finely-tuned limbs, two splendorous wings flared from the middle of the throne, illuminated until the exquisitely outlined feathers shone cherry-red. From the base of the wings, the hand-made branches in all their beige and white-red and chocolate and gold twisted like the visible trails of a butterfly's dance, curling tenderly around the wings without ever quite touching them. The effect was phenomenal. Despite himself, the redhead's brilliant gold-teal eyes roved proudly over the satiny lines before he turned to glare icily at the brunet.

The angel, finished his appraisal of his creation already, was regarding him with unconcealed amusement. It warmed the lavender in his eyes, but the smirk widened along with them. It was with a predatory look that he was watching the smaller man. "A wing fetish, Gaara? Surely not."

Acid rose in his throat. "Only on birds," he spat, wishing as he hadn't wished in a long time that he were venomous, that he could sink poison-tipped fangs into the man's smug face.

The lips tilted, slanted in a devastatingly handsome look of condescension as he ignored his words. "How can I ever let you go now that I know?"

And with that, the brunet walked up to the masterful throne and sank down into it, spreading his legs a little and giving the redhead a provocative come-hither smirk. Red flashed the instant the knees of the long limbs folded as he sat. His mouth hissing open in a roar of rage, the sculptor lunged for the other man, clawing and scratching and trying to maim as much as he possibly could, before his wrists were trapped by the taller man. The Hyuuga's face was contorted in a black look, but Gaara had achieved his goal in getting him off the chair. They stood, clasped in their strange hold, a few steps away from it.

"You're really trying my patience," the brunet snarled in a low, dangerous voice – his perfect lips barely moving as the growl ripping through them. But the redhead was past listening. Pure rage was quickly clouding his vision in a glistening, murder-fogged haze. He stared at his captor through the fug of blood-mist, and felt a huge upwelling of violence and bitterness and _hatred._

Every little scrap of fury and resentment surged against the fleshy confines of his body, everything he thought he'd already purged and expelled came roaring back through a tunnel of freezing anger, filling him to the brim in all the most horrid of emotions.

And worst of all – jealousy. Jealousy that this… this_ stranger,_ this unworthy being had taken the first seat at his wooden masterpiece. Gaara had sworn, he had sworn to himself, he would sit once, enjoy once, and then never again. And nobody else ever again.

But this… this _bastard_ had come, and he had ruined again.

_No more._

The plush lips were moving, the eyes like liquid mercury flashing in anger that felt dull compared to the tidal wave within Gaara. The blood rushed in his ears, drowning the honeyed words he knew were pealing from that devil's tongue.

"ENOUGH!" He bellowed. He watched in rich, cruel satisfaction as the angel appeared to startle, but the emotion was quickly lost in the deluge of tar-like mess inside him. When he spoke again, his voice was blistering. "Enough. Get out of my house. Get out of my sight. Leave this place, and _never _return. I never want to see you again, I never want to think of you, I never want to hear your name. I want you out. I hate you. I _hate _you."

Gaara didn't feel better. He didn't feel worse – he felt the same, like he was smashing around, unbreakable, on a fatalistic series of rapids. From that crack, the one that had formed - had it just been minutes earlier? - the acid and sulphur and fire came exploding out, filling him in burning hatred.

The Hyuuga's face was dark, dangerous. A previous Gaara might have quailed under the malevolent glare, but a new Sabaku Gaara was emerging. Or rather – an old Sabaku Gaara, an old, thought lost or dead one. His face contorted in rage, the redhead watched as his motionless wrists slipped out of the large, long-fingered hands. Stood completely still, they stared hard at each other. Freezing opal met red-tinged jade. The time lumped past, and then the angel was turning, his alabaster face blank and lifeless, turning his back to the smaller man. He walked back toward the door, passing a hair's breadth away from one wooden mahogany wing, a couple of loose strands of hair lightly touching the carved feathers.

And then he was gone, swallowed up in the stark sunlight beyond the workshop door. A few long seconds past, and the redhead followed him into the bright light shining through the huge kitchen windows. The massive central room was empty; the array of chairs void of any sprawling long-limbed figure. Gaara was alone again.

* * *

He was so late.

Gaara cast a desperate glance at the watch on his wrist – 8:37. Goddamn, he was so late.

He hurtled across the road just as the green man flickered to red; sticking a wild middle finger up at the cacophony of beeping horns that followed his dash across the road. Skidding to a left, he pelted down the pavement. His feet slapped viciously on the concrete. He almost came to a slamming halt as he sped past a tall woman walking unthinkingly toward him – her long brown hair flipped out over her shoulder as Gaara turned his head, still running. She was looking back at him, similarly turned with her head tilted over her shoulder. Her brown eyes blinked, stunned.

Shaking himself, the redhead rid himself of the shudder and continued at his breakneck pace. He screeched into his work not five minutes later, bent double and wheezing.

"Sabaku!" Came the harsh voice from above him.

Wincing, the redhead righted himself and came face to face with his boss, Carl of Carl's Carpentry. He did not look impressed.

Carl was a man of rugged build; thick, heavyset frame and slightly stocky stature, with a once honey-ish and now greying blonde beard which was coarse from an uncaring cleaning regime. His own green work shirt was faded from the wash, and the hem down the sides was unravelling. A matching and more new-looking cap sat atop his head, above sharp, flinty eyes. But it was his hands that were his defining feature – thick fingered, and laced with a multitude of white scars, from paper thin to thick, short termite ridges. The work-faded fingertips were calloused and harsh, the nails were short to the point of non-existent, and yet the sawdust still managed to stick under the short stubs. He was a man constantly telling Gaara that he did not look like he was built to be a carpenter. Privately, the redhead agreed. Truthfully, he was more of a sculptor, but he sculpted wood and wood was his field. So it made sense to him to work in carpentry.

"Ye forty minutes late," the man said gruffly.

"Sorry about that," Gaara shrugged his over-the-shoulder bag off and slung it over one of the free employee's hooks. "Something… came up." He grimaced to himself.

"Yer on sanding today," was the short reply. "Had to fire Melly yesterday."

The redhead's stomach sank, and he barely repressed a groan. Sanding was, hands down, the most boring of all the jobs at the carpenter's. Refusing to complain – which was probably the worst thing to do in his situation – Gaara pushed through the door behind the counter in the small reception and entered the workshop.

The smell greeted him first, the heady aromatic scent of the sawdust blood of every type of wood available floating as dust motes in the air. He inhaled greedily as he neared the sanding bench and pulled on the dust-covered goggles which lay on the table, wiping them to clear his vision. He set about with the large, electronic sander – a nifty oval contraption the width of his two clenched fists – which released a thick plume of sawdust back at the user. It was the legs of a beech table that he was smoothing, and before long Gaara was covered all over in canyon-orange powder. Spluttering, he allowed himself to fall into the monotony of the actions, catching his mind whenever it wandered and bringing it forcibly back onto his task at hand. And yet he couldn't seem to rid his brain of the satiny cocoa locks, flaring in an imagination-made breeze in the back of his mind. Whenever he thought he'd pushed it out, it would be back – or worse, accompanied with the twin pools of diamond and melted lavender.

Growling, he realised he'd finished the table in record speed. Frustrated, he left it standing there, stripped down, and moved on to the next. He worked in a kind of frenzy until lunchtime, at which point Carl emerged from his office – a now-familiar grave look on his face, and patted the redhead's shoulder. His back and shoulder muscles protesting, Gaara looked up, and with ears still ringing from the roar of the sander, determined from the motions of the man's mouth that it was lunchtime. Stretching and twisting his aching joints tiredly, the redhead sloped through a door on the other side of the room, emerging in a small lunch room. Wide, unembellished windows let in a bright swell of light. He collapsed in the seat next to a skinny wraith of a man named Ellis, who Gaara had spotted earlier doing the whittling. Now the redhead may have lamented the sanding he'd been given that morning, but whittling was the one everyone despised. Every aspect was hard, and every was crucial, but if you got the whittling part wrong, you were fired and there was nothing you or anyone else could do about it. You were as good as gone. The man looked ashen, and his fingers trembled slightly as he bit into his roll.

With no lunch – the prick that morning (Gaara furiously steered his mind away from further thoughts) had prevented any food at all from entering him – the redhead crossed to the cool box in the darkest corner of the room. Once fairly well-stocked and often replenished, now Gaara was hard pushed to rummage for a semi-wilted Caesar salad.

"No food Gaara?" Jemima smirked as he returned to the table, distastefully holding the limp salad. He shot her a withering look. She stared uncaringly back, a brutish-looking woman with a hard jaw and another set of scarred hands.

"I ran late this morning," he replied blankly.

"I know," she said in turn, primly inspecting her (sawdust filled) fingernails. The redhead didn't bother with a response.

Unenthusiastically scooping up his salad, Gaara turned to Carl. He lent against the wall, untouched plate on a cabinet next to him, poring over a calculator. "Why is Melly gone, Carl?" He asked.

As if emerging from some disorientating dream, the small, sharp eyes focused on the younger man. "He wasn't pulling his weight," he grunted, "Not worth the wages."

Next to him, Ellis was nodding vacantly. Melly had been a slob. A nice guy, sure, but a lazy one.

"I've had to pull Shikamaru back in for temping," Carl continued, displeasure evident in the grating voice, "But only on the minimum wage."

The redhead released a derisive snort, and begun to shovel in the salad as fast as he could so that he wouldn't have to taste it. Ellis gave him an 'I know' eyeroll in the corner of his vision, and even Jemima's lips twitched up at the news. If Melly was bad, then Shikamaru was a hopeless case. Brain like a planet; motivation of a sloth. But at least he, unlike their recently-fired colleague, didn't care much for money anyway. As long as Shikamaru had his campervan and his cigarettes, then all was right with the world.

After their half an hour was up, the team sloped with diminished spirits back to the workshop. Carl immediately disappeared back into his office, the door closing loudly and decisively behind him.

"Hey boys, did ye see the closed down furn'ture store down Abey Way?" Jemima asked once they'd settled at their positions. Ellis shook his head, but Gaara grunted the affirmative. "We'll be next," the heavyset woman assured them cheerfully in her throaty voice, chuckling with a dark humour that the two slight men didn't share. Huffing a sigh, Gaara bent and, snapping on the goggles, began to sand again.

XXX

_Ping. Ping ping ping!_

The three employees were gesticulating manically at each other. The redhead was making stabbing motions with his index finger at the broad woman, who was a step further on and was violently making rude gesticulations at the skinny man who completed the triangle by first jabbing his finger back at the redhead and then at the door which led to the reception.

The furious silent battle continued for about another minute, before Ellis and Jemima shared a look, and simultaneously pointed at Gaara. He shot them a black look.

"It's your _turn_," hissed the woman, making sure her voice didn't carry into the reception. Ellis, who avoided being directly confrontational, nodded to back her up. Face livid, the redhead shot them both a 'you-will-die-when-I-return' glare and stomped to the door.

He affixed a smile – it felt slightly painful – and stepped out behind the counter. In front of him, his hand poised above the silver bell in the middle of the desk, stood a customer. An orange sign faced away from the redhead, but the man knew what it said off by heart – _'please ring for assistance'._ The man in front of him brought his hand down on the bell again again, dark eyes meeting Gaara's as the silver chime rung through the gap in between them. Gaara's smile wavered.

"Did you need," he tried to ungrit his teeth, "Assistance?"

"Why yes," the man smiled, a little bit too widely. "I'm looking for someone."

Gaara's face was completely unimpressed. "This is a carpentry store, not a Lost and Found."

The man chuckled jovially, as if sharing a joke, before seriousness ruled his face again. "I've heard that a, uh, _Sabaku_ _Gaara_ has recently been in his company."

Suspicious, the carpenter stared blankly at the strange man. Apparently unperturbed by the hard scrutiny, he ran a hand through his silver mop of a fringe. His hair at the back was pulled into a loose ponytail. There was a glint behind the lenses of his glasses, as if he already knew that he was standing in front of the man whose name he'd just spoken.

"And what would you say if I told you Sabaku Gaara wasn't here?" The man said in a testy voice.

A chuckle – the amusement was self-directed. "I've been told he has bright red hair and a kanji tattoo. Tell me, have you been in the company of a man recently?"

A tentacle coil was beginning to sleepily twist around his abdomen, reaching for his internal organs to squeeze them. His exterior remained completely unchanged as he replied. "No."

The politely amused expression still remained on the stranger's face as he studied the redhead, but there was a hardness that settled along his jaw. "That's not what my sources have informed me."

"Your sources are obviously idiots then," Gaara replied, his voice cold.

Another small laugh, this time less cordial. "I think not," the man replied in a cool voice.

The redhead sighed, bored now. He leaned on the counter, rested his head on his hand and assumed an unenthused position. He waited a moment or two for the stranger to stand uncomfortably, as if unsure of his next move. "Are you going to buy something?" He asked after a couple of minutes had passed in an emotionless tone. "Or are you just going to stand there and waste my time?"

A smile spread over the silver-haired stranger's face, and his eyes crinkled as if he was genuinely humoured. His eyes gave him away though – flat, unreflective black.

"I'd like to make an order of ten tables and forty chairs," he said, still in the fake pleasant voice, "Provided, of course, that you tell me where this man is."

Still bent over the counter, Gaara's spine went rigid for a split second. An order that big – there hadn't been one in months. He straightened, unable to keep from twitching in his previous pose, and lightly drummed his fingers on the polished wood of the desk. "Throw in a cocktail bar," he said in a slow, deliberate voice, "and you've got yourself a deal."

The silver-haired man beamed at him, his eyes dead. "That sounds wonderful."

Gaara refused to answer any questions until he had fully processed the stranger's order, taking his debit card and address – a prestigious street in The Hub – and workplace, also grand and ostentatious, and filling out the order form in a dull monotone. He watched the silver eyebrow twitching irritably with intense inner amusement as he brought out another sheaf of forms. "Would you like beech, maple, mahogany, pine-"

"Mahogany," came the snippy reply.

"Would you like the chairs to match?" the redhead droned.

"Yes!"

"Would you like covers on the chairs?"

"Yes!"

"We have red or blue or green or orange or-"

"Red, dammit!"

"Would you like patterned red or plain re-"

"Plain, is this all really necessary?"

He was losing his rag, Gaara noted in satisfaction. "We have a discount on kitchen work to-"

"No."

"We have a special edition of claw-footed tabl-"

"No."

"Would you like a notched chair seat or a-"

"No!"

"I'll say notched." Gaara scratched it onto the form slowly, gleeful inside. Under his silver locks, the man's face was reddening with rage.

"How much more of this?"

"It's standard procedure, sir," he drilled in a monotone. "Now, when do you want these by?"

"Next _fucking_ year, I don't care!" The stranger snarled. The redhead blinked lazily at him.

"We can do this in two months, if you'd prefer," he intoned slowly.

"Whatever." The man looked like he was slowly losing the will to live.

"We have a no-return policy at presen-"

"Fine!"

"And we no longer use instalme-"

"_Fine!_"

"So you'll pay upfront," Gaara drawled unconcernedly.

"I said," the customer hissed, "that's _fine!"_

Gaara stared at him for a moment. He tapped on a few keys, deliberately taking his time. "Please take your card," he said at last. The man whipped it out of the machine. The receipt whirred out after it. Snatching it, the man didn't even look at the price it totted up to.

"Now," he hissed, "Your end of the deal."

Gaara lent back on the counter and placed his head on both hands. "I don't know," he replied tonelessly, "He left this morning."

He stared impassively into the stranger's face, which looked like it didn't know whether to swell, blow up, vomit, or all three. "Well _where did he go?!"_ He said in a voice like acid.

Not wanting the order to be rescinded, Gaara thought quickly. "To the Hu- the centre," he corrected himself, "to… Central Park. I believe he was going to make his way from there."

The silver-haired man looked faintly appeased. "And when was this?"

"This morning." He left out any indication of time. As soon as the words left his lips, the silver-haired stranger was out of the door, a swirl of cool air rushing in his wake. Starting to smile for real, the redhead turned from the counter and walked back into the workshop. "CA-ARL," he yelled; a smug grin forming on his lips.

* * *

"And then," he sniggered, "He just ran from the shop like someone had stuffed a lit dynamite stick up his arse!" The moment, even funnier to Gaara than it had been a few hours previously, suddenly incited an uprising of hilarity and he burst into laughter again. Lee looked slightly concerned.

"But why was someone looking for our dear Neji?" He asked to no one in particular unhappily. "Oh Gaara, why must you try to argue with everyone?"

The redhead sobered a little. "I don't argue with everyone. Our personalities just clashed," he replied, somewhat truthfully. The athlete frowned at him as his small smile spread wide again. "And he bought… he bought…" A snort erupted from him, and he bent double over his ribs, "he bought nearly three and half thousand quid's worth of furniture!" Gaara cackled again, and Lee, encouraged by the fit his friend was in, smiled slightly despite himself.

"I'm worried though," he continued when Gaara had finally calmed down, wiping ink-stained black tears from the corner of his eyes. "What if Neji is in trouble?"

The sculptor snorted again, this time in derision, "Who gives a flying fuck anyway?"

"Gaara!" Lee hit his friend over the arm just as his girlfriend walked in. She appraised the scene curiously, taking in the redhead's still present grin and Lee's frown – a puzzling sight on both sides.

"What's going on?" she asked questioningly, looking between the two men.

Casting a reproving look at his friend, who looked like he was about to dissolve into snickers again, Lee turned to answer his girlfriend. "Neji is missing," he replied mournfully, "he ran out after he argued with Gaara this morning, and now some stranger has been looking for him. I'm worried."

Tenten said nothing as she came and sat down on the footstool in front of the pair, but she smiled and patted Lee's knee when she was seated. "I'm sure he'll be fine," she said brightly, "He seems like a capable man."

The redhead made a contemptuous 'pschh', his spirits still lifted, and leant back against the sofa cushions with a pleasantly warm ball in his stomach. His memory replayed the resounding clap on the back from a beaming Carl, the silver-haired prat hightailing it from the shops with a £3400 pound receipt in his pocket, and finally the prospect of the rest of his life without Neji Hyuuga. The air had never tasted sweeter.

He stood, unable to keep from chuckling, and waved a hand slightly at the couple. "I'm gonna head back now, pick up a celebratory donut or something." Leaving their murmured 'bye's in the air behind him, he exited the pretty house and made his way back to the main street. Merriment lightened his footsteps as he strolled toward the main street, and he barely restrained another laugh – there were some things he wouldn't sink to when by himself in public.

He envisioned his home – blissfully empty, but forced himself not to speed up. He would enjoy this moment, just like he would enjoy every moment as he had never before. Still smiling, he listened intently to every sound around him, documenting each that he loved – the thrum and roar of the engines as they growled along the road a way ahead of him, distant staccato of women's heels, beneath it all, a peeping of a bird.

Behind him he could hear heavy thwumphs of footsteps – a fat man, he though with amusement to himself, and at around the same distance, a deep, growling hum. A car?

As he was about to turn and acquaint himself with the maker of this new sound, his shoulders were roughly grabbed. Startling, he barely had time to struggle, brain barely formulated the thought of long brunet hair, flashing pale eyes – before his head was turning, and a sleek, long car was sliding past. His reflection in the tinted windows was wild-eyed, overshadowed by a thick, skinhead man wearing shades, before the door was open and he was falling in. The car pulled away from the pavement with a low roar.

Stunned, the redhead looked up at his captors. Three burly bodyguards, decked in stereotypical black suits, dark shades and buzz cut hairstyles sat around him, one against either side of the car and one against the partitioned off driver's seat. A black grating, so tightly woven that only the dark outline of someone's head behind it was visible, was the only gap in between.

"Gaa-raaaa," was the first word uttered. It slithered through the grating in the partition like cloying syrup, caressing the syllables in a sickening manner.  
"Let me the fuck out," he said harshly, desperately pushing the fear down.

"Now now Gaara," the crystallised voice rebuked him, humour in the sticky liquid of the tone. "We're only going to ask you a few questions."

The car rolled slowly down the street, weaving through the traffic effortlessly. A spike of fear jolted through the redhead. "What do you want?" He asked shakily.

"Gaara," the decaying voice said affectionately, extending the vowels sounds, "You know perfectly well. We're looking for your new acquaintance."

"And who might that be?" The redhead rocked to the side as the car turned a corner, bumping his elbow against the seat. The bodyguards all stirred, flexing their biceps and cracking their muscles. He tried to remain still.

"I don't know where Hyuuga is," he said slowly.

A slimy laugh was his only response. "Oh, we doubt that Gaara," the voice chided after a deep pause. The sculptor could imagine pursed lips, oozing poisoned treacle. His stomach clenched.

"I don't," he said honestly, miraculously keeping an even tone despite the fear he could feel setting his face into a stiff mask.

The laugh this time was loud and unnatural, both in its cadence and its timing. The redhead's entire body went cold at the sound. "Oh, he'll be back," came the ominous reassurance. There was a slight slurping sound, almost as if – Gaara recoiled at the thought – he was sucking on his lips, or something worse. "He'll be back… Gaara."

"No," the redhead swallowed the bile that had suddenly risen in his throat, "No, he won't, he really won't."

"Gaa-raaaaa," the tone was almost fond – a sick, backwards version of a loving undercurrent. A new shape appeared in the darkness of the dividing metal – a hand print, the fingertips darker as if they were pressed like claws against the grill. "Men like Hyuuga, they alllllways come back…"

* * *

A can lifted slightly into the air, emitting a tinny clunk as it met the ground again and continued down the slight slope at an increasing speed. A second quickly followed, urged on by the brown suede toe of a man's size 8 shoe.

Neji Hyuuga watched the rubbish rattle to a stop against damp-stained brickwork with a disinterested expression. Blowing a long tendril of his hair out of his eyes, he strolled around a corner and came upon a long, narrow alleyway. The thin lip of the main road was visible at the other end, the slim gap of the exit obscured at regular intervals by the traffic. He watched the cars pass with only half his concentration, a half-coherent list formulating in his mind behind the bored grey eyes. Silver. 2 seconds. Blue, navy. 3 seconds. Red. 4 seconds. Silver. 3 seconds. Grey. 2 seconds.

A slightly uncomfortable twisting in his stomach alerted him to his growing hunger, and a sardonic smile passed his lips briefly.

An interval of 10 seconds. Long, sleek and shiny black. Tinted windows and a low thrum for an engine, like the heartbeat of a hawk.

Curiosity turned Neji's head despite the fact that the car had quickly vanished from the window of road that he could see. West. He looked the way it had gone, back where he'd come from. Something else was rippling in his stomach, something smaller, tighter, more subtle than hunger pangs. Making a quick decision, he turned around at a ground-eating lope, settling into the strenuous rhythm with lithe ease.

* * *

The store fronts sliding past were starting to look achingly familiar. Gaara shifted, and gasped at a resulting stab in his ribs. His head shot up to see the blunt nub of a shotgun withdrawing from his chest, the handle in the thick grip of the middle bodyguard. It left a dull pain in its wake, and the promise of a large bruise.

The car, despite its size, made a few neat, curving turns like an elegant bovine, before it slid to a stop outside the redhead's home. The guard closest slid open the door with an animal grunt for him to get out. Throat tight, Gaara conceded, and he felt a hand pushing him roughly through the door. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground in a sprawl. The final oil-slicked words oozed out of the grate after him before the door hissed close again, and the panther-like vehicle was accelerating away from him.

The sentence turned over and over in the redhead's mind.

_We'll be in touch… Gaarrrra._

* * *

Neji Hyuuga leaned against the wall around the corner, his head inclined towards the house he had, until that morning, been inhabiting. The black car sped away with a rumble, leaving the small, slender-limbed redhead lying in a heap on the concrete with a dazed expression. It was heavily tinged with terror. He sat there for a few seconds, seemingly frozen, before he hauled himself up and sloped slowly to his front door.

Neji stared at the slim hips under the forest green t-shirt, the arch of the shoulders and the brilliant fiery mop, ruffled and unconsciously choppy, and felt again the inherent urge to have, to possess. The need surged up inside him, and a scowl darkened his features like a looming storm. His anger was directed at the black car, at those inside it, and it boiled and roared inside him like an inferno in a land of dry timber. He watched, narrow-eyed, as the redhead opened the door and slunk inside, and felt something inside him reach gleaming claws out to the disappearing back, trying desperately to grab the lean figure and drag him back, to consume him, to have him, to keep him safe and unharmed and _with him._

He didn't move from the wall. His arms, which had been tightly folded across his chest, unwound themselves and pushed his long body away from the bricks. He turned eastwards and spotted a can. He kicked it as he walked with his back to the house behind him.

* * *

Breath after shuddering breath ripped from Gaara's chest as he bent over the sink in the kitchen. He could feel acid bile, and the urgent need to purge his body of the poison, but he resisted and slowly his breathing calmed. He pushed away from the worktop and staggered over to the chairs, falling into one with a clipped, half-swallowed exclamation which he realised as he buried his face into a black cushion was a sob. His sheathed ribs caging his vital organs heaved as he convulsed in sobs, and tears leaked furiously from his screwed eyes.

It was as he felt the warm water cooling quickly on his cheeks that an uncontrollable rage surged up. He leapt from the sofa he had fallen on – lime green – and hurled the ebony pillowcase across the room, wiping his face harshly with the balls of his hands. As quickly as they started, the tears stopped. Gaara was furious. The anger, for the time-being, was mainly self-directed. The nerve of himself to cry, like some foolish teenage _girl! _Like that would help. Stupid.

The rage took a turn, and his fists balled as he recalled the putrefied voice of the man in the car. How dare they. How dare they demean him like that! Gaara stalked over to the wall, changed his mind and whirled back, and as he did, spotted the white door under the stairs. It was ajar. It was not bile but venom, stinging and spitting hot that bubbled in his throat this time, and he all but tore over to it. The angry rattle of the door on its hinges only worked to further madden him, and it was in a blind fury that he spun around, looking for something to maim, to hurt.

His eyes alit upon the violated throne sitting innocently in the rippling play of light from the gauzy fabric curtains. Red bloodied his vision, and he grabbed the first thing off the tabletop next to him – a broad-handled hammer, the metal end dented from years of hitting nails. Emitting an animal cry, he lunged for the things that were taunting him – the beautiful mahogany wings. He smashed the hammer down on the closest, feeling splinters explode and rain upon his face and chest and arms in some kind of useless defensive attack. A savage pleasure filled him as he watched the painstakingly carved feathers crumple under the power of his blows. He wanted them off. Madly, with no comprehensive thoughts going through his head, he aimed blow after blow at the base of the wing, trying with an intense, desperate passion to remove the ugly limb from its owner. The wood peeled limply, coming away in huge jagged chunks, but the fucking thing stayed resolutely on.

Slowly, his enraged ardour cooling, Gaara's limbs grey heavy. He dropped the hammer with a loud crash and stared desolately at the product of his anger. The left wing was completely mauled, the delicate end feathers smashed and shattered beyond any means of repair. The wood around the base was mutilated, like the flesh of a felled animal torn apart by hyenas – ripped, shredded, dead. The other wing, resplendent in its brilliant cherry, was flawless and elegant.

_What have I done?_

As though his limbs had just given way, Gaara fell to the floor in a trembling heap. Agonisingly slowly, he pulled himself to the wall and leant against it. Around his body was the aromatic sawdust blood covering the crude hunks of wood that were scattered on the floor. Blankly, his face numb and his eyes stinging, the redhead heard a faint, mournful splintering. The wing, finally defeated, fell to the ground with an enormous bang. A cloud of sawdust hung in the air, stirred by its fall.

Gaara put his head on his knees and allowed the tears to come.

There was an answerphone on the landline when Gaara awoke the next day. It was from a distinctly more cheerful sounding Carl, explaining that everyone had a day off because he had an important meeting with The Big Boss that day, and besides, they'd deserved it. The message clicked off, but the lifeless green eyes stared at the faintly glowing box for a few more listless minutes.

Just great. Just when he needed something to distract him.

An irrational fear gripped him at that moment, and his body went rigid in bed. What if they came back? They knew where he lived now, what if they came back – what if he had to move? Where could he move to?!

Another wave of terror, different, but more familiar than that of the last pushed through him. He couldn't leave. Not when he had finally forged a life here. No. His fingers itched for the phone, his forced instinct to call the police, but a stronger, more primitive instinct stopped him. A sigh filtered through his teeth. These people could do nothing to him, he thought deliberately to himself, I don't know where the bastard is. His thoughts soured. Leave it to the bastard not to be here and still cause me grief.

He'd forget about it, he decided as he got out of bed. Push it under the rug. He wouldn't think about it anymore. His stomach grumbled, and as he walked down the stairs and toward the fridge he didn't even spare a glance for the locked white door under the stairs.

It was sitting in his favourite blue armchair with a stack of buttered toast and a coffee later that the redhead spotted a sheet of unfamiliar paper dangling off the top of the tallest book pile. Balancing his breakfast on the arm of the chair, he reached up for it, nearly sending the teetering stack flying.

When he got it down he found it covered in a loose, sprawling script. No spare inch of white paper was left – it was completely swamped in the words.

_Neji_, were the ringing words in the redhead's mind as he awaited the usual bitter hatred. For some reason, it didn't come. He settled back to read.

_Recollection 2: A thought occurred to me this morning. It was completely unbidden. I thought, "I am under the Caelum now", and then I continued to drink my coffee._

Gaara snorted with faint laughter. Comprehension dawned as the reason his coffee granule levels had been sinking became clear. He lifted the paper to his face again, squinting, and then, with a sigh, reached for his thin black-frame glasses sitting on one of the table-height book piles.

_And then I asked myself what the fuck a caelum was. I had to think and think – and get the same fucking headache inbetween my temples because I just _can't remember. _Then, just when I think I'm close, fucking butterfingers goes and drops a plate on the floor and breaks my concentration._

Gaara scowled. He'd liked that plate as well. "Fucking Neji," he muttered to himself.

_Gone. So I'm just about to go and yank on that lovely red hair when it comes to me, so suddenly it was like shoving an ice cube through my ear – The Caelum. Forgot about the flamehead and figured I better go and goddamn write it down before I forget it again. _

Stewing slightly over the jibe at his 'lovely red hair', Gaara struggled to determine the words as they became quicker and more messy.

_Caelum is a gem, a kind of horizon-wide jewel ... blue as.. I am about to say sky, but of course that's what it is ... when I fell ... crack which the wind ... was too strong ... but I can't remember? I can't ... I remember the clouds and the blue ... but not really – the blue? No ..._

Exasperated, the redhead tried to make sense of the mess of letters. It was useless. It was so incomprehensible it was nearly encoded.

A single well-formed line in the middle stood out. _The Caelum is the Human Sky and the ####'s Sea. _Gaara stared irritably at the words. What the hell? He couldn't even read that one. With a sigh, he tried to pick out the letters. Two e's, definitely. An… m? And a y.

_Eyme._

That wasn't even a word. Pursing his lips, Gaara sounded it out. "Ee-mee? Ay-mee? Eem?" With no one to ask, he was none the wiser. He tried once more – "ime?" It rhymed with chime. Irritably, Gaara flung it back on the stack of books. He downed his coffee. Who fucking knew anyway.

* * *

**Notes: **Just a quickie. I have no idea what a carpenter's is like. I have no idea what they do. I'm lazy, and researching makes me lose interest faster than if you turn all the writing in the world into algebra and Latin. If you don't like how I'm describing it, if you disagree, if you find it unrealistic… If you find it particularly excruciating and unbearable, please, I implore you, drop me a quick one liner to say that you can't go on until I sort out my information or that you can't read more than a couple of lines before you unconsciously begin slamming your head against your (probably not sanded) table, and try and avoid flaming too badly. There IS a lot of wood around, remember?

Also: OMG A NEJI POV. I realised I had none so I just figured I'd drop a few tasters in ;) Complete Kudos to anyone who recognises the song whose lines I am using for chapter names! Don't google the lines, that's cheating! (I'm watching you o.e) See you all in Chapter 4!


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